Alone
by Electromotive Force
Summary: The Inner Colonies dwindle. Mankind's insuperable enemy scatters and defeats the UNSC with an almost effortless momentum. Now, at the height of the War, the Defense Forces of Zagosa Prime are able to fend off the might of the Covenant. How is it possible? As Lima Company's enemies close in all around them, they are forced to uncover this mystery.
1. Alone

**Alone**

_Alone, she sits  
Gazing beyond  
Weapons, her only friend_

_I hope that she'll live  
Live through this day  
If only so one day she'll mend_

_We fly into trouble  
Seeking the foe  
Never to rest in this War_

_We all share one mind  
We're going to fight  
When will it be no more?_

_The skies are red  
Red like our wrath  
We will never surrender!_

_We pray for the day  
When we can rejoice  
This we long to remember_

_For these days are cursed  
These days are strange  
Why must it be this way?_

_They brought us no peace  
Only the sword  
Colonies boiled away_

_They killed her brothers  
Killed her sisters  
Killing all that she knew_

_She's fought since then  
Exacting revenge  
Biting off more than could chew_

_Tough as nails  
Rough as sails  
Spartan, she sits alone_

_But weak at the core  
Battered from war  
I hope she finds a home_

_The ship starts to pitch  
The ship starts to roll  
We descend into the fray_

_I start to wonder  
I start to pray  
Praying that this won't be her last day_

_I can't see her face  
But she's just like me  
Faster, stronger, different_

_Becometh a hero  
Feeleth no fear  
She's angry, tired, distant_

_A draft starts to swirl  
Through the rear hold  
Our battle is now at hand_

_We start to touch down  
Into the dirt  
Here, she makes her stand_

_I hope that she'll live  
Live through this day  
__I hope that she will survive_

_To see that this life  
Is not blood and tears..._

_She can feel alive_

* * *

"Shakespeare!" I tucked away the note pad as fast as I could and stared back at Sergeant Smith. "What the piss is wrong with you?" he barked.

"Sir, just reviewing the pre-mission brief!" I had to yell at the top of my lungs back to the Gunny. The wind outside the open rear hatch was like a freight train. Lungs had to compete with the vacuum-like draft for air.

"Bullshit! You're writing haikus and shit." A jesting smile spread across his face and his eyes beamed towards mine.

I smiled and once again placed my attention out the rear hold, unable to help myself from staring at the Spartan-II next to it.

"Gotta love the Gunny." said a voice nearby. "Great guy."

I looked over to the Marine sitting adjacent to me.

"You'll get a hard time from him being the FNG, but he's cool. You'll see."

I simply smiled in reply.

"Haven't seen good old trees and ink in years. Keeping a diary there?"

"Something like that."

"You a writer or something?"

"You could say that. Started it when I joined back in Twenty-Five Forty-Eight."

"Corps make you introspective like so many others?"

"When I wasn't running missions or training for missions, well, I wasn't much doing anything. You know how it goes. This helps me stay sane and out of trouble. People know me as Shakespeare. My real name is Blake Penington. Private Penington if you want to keep it in context."

He nodded, looked away.

A very bright flash stole every occupant's attention for a fraction of a second. Eyes darted to the rear, staring far off out the hatch. It was extremely distant, in fact below the horizon aft of us. Whatever was out there, it likely no longer existed. The birefringence from a blast of such magnitude extended high into an altostratus sheet of cloud cover, adding overt clarity to the night. Without a sound, the plume of light softly waned and dark took over again.

All eyes went to where they were before.

We hadn't touched down yet. Actually, we were a long ways away from it. I rememebred the map in the briefing room prior to launch. With our average velocity, I estimated about twenty klicks before we hit dirt. Strangely, some of the best ideas came to me right before firefights. I guess it was the brain on overdrive, the adrenaline racing throughout the body giving me that elusive, creative spark I rarely knew of. I would enjoy it for now, but when I hit dirt the good side of it goes away. It's where my _other _writs come into play. The vivid, violent ones that people knew me for. But the one I just wrote was special; I would never share it.

I became aware of the Marine's gaze resting on me again.

"Something's wrong with my gear?"

"No, you're alright. Everything seems rigged up correctly. You just seem at ease tonight."

I propped my rifle on the deck and rested my hands over the muzzle, straightening my posture. "Why's that?"

He cracked a mellow smile. "You're one of the few motionless bodies in this bloodtray."

"Well, this IBA is killing my back. The less I move, the less I think about it." I shrugged lightly.

"You don't know it yet, but most of the Marines in here are scared shitless. Just takes time to see it. But you pull off composure like a ten-year veteran. What's the secret?"

I shrugged. "No secret. I just daydream a lot, maybe too much."

"You must really have a deathwish."

"In my old unit the others thought that same thing you did from time to time. Thought I was either crazy, depressed or just pretending to be one of the two because I never squirmed before things got real. They called me The Introvert. That was until they discovered I was writing all the time. Told them I preferred Shakespeare."

"Well, lucky you, then. Some here crack jokes to ease the tension, sometimes on each other, but mostly on her. Yeah, I saw you eyeballing that green armor. The other, more hardcore folks rehearse Jujitsu in case it comes to that. Others strip and clean their rifles until it could probably pass a depot-level magnaflux inspection. Everyone has their ways, but now you're the newcomer, just some FNG from another world. You know what that means."

"Means everyone's got a hard-on for me, wants to find out what makes me tick until I'm either KIA or some other FNG comes along and steals the spotlight."

"Yep, and it's bad enough you're the current FNG, but you're the FNG whose reputation already precedes him among the higher-ups. Guess you made a name for yourself in training. That means twice-as-tall hard-on for you."

"And probably twice as hard. I suppose some of the junior NCOs and lower enlisted will pay particular attention to me for a while."

He nodded. "Just hope they don't resent your cool head or you'll never get a moment's peace after combat."

"Why is _that _bad? I assumed it was a _good _thing for someone to have thick skin in the Marine Corps."

"It is. But there is such a thing as having _too _thick a skin. You'll get attention that way as well. Just my opinion, but that's one of the reasons Amy was alienated from the beginning."

"That Spartan?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking in her direction, "And what _other _reasons?"

From what I gathered, she sat alone all the time as if invisible to her commrades, always staring out the open rear hatch and into the world we passed by. She was like me, a ghost in her own shell, her gaze locked solid onto the tent of sweeping foliage below as if remembering.

"I think she'd rather it be this way anyways." he said. "She's not a real talker to begin with. She'd rather just look and think, like you. The Gunny keeps the hatch open for her every drop. They have some sort of understanding."

"What understanding?"

All I could see from my seat was blackness with the occasional flash of distant bombardment. It was the only stable reference for the horizon, the eerie pulses of light and chaos far beyond somehow comforting to a distant observer.

Holmes sighed and reluctantly elaborated. "Gunny and a select few here know about her past and it ain't pretty. Some people in Lima Company probably wouldn't handle it the right way, so he keeps the fraternization level at a low. No one really makes casual conversation with her, and it's certainly not condoned. But make no mistake, Shakespeare, once the bullets and the plasma start flying they'll never lose sight of that gold visor. She's the best asset in any ground engagement and she'll keep you alive."

"And other than that, she's off limits."

"Yeah, that's the running trend in this unit."

"She deserves friends too. Hell, she's a hero."

"Yeah, but it's for good reason."

I nodded while mulling over his words. He spoke them with subtle conviction, and I sensed they were true. I couldn't help but feel sympathy towards her and a disdain towards them, the War, the whole galaxy. The universe finds ways of tempering you into something you weren't.

Nevertheless, I admired her. I sensed her plight and felt her courage.

But I could never be her. She is superhuman. She is a Spartan.

And though every man, woman, and child passionately hates the Covenant, I would never know the measure of her rage.

"I still don't think I understand fully. Why isolate her if she's so effective? Couldn't the others gain something from her combat methods?"

"You're a Marine." he said rhetorically, carelessly fastening a carabiner to his primary weapon. The spring-loaded metal slapped shut with a _clack _louder than anything that instant. "So, you know that Section Two will tell people what they want to hear. Civilians think the War isn't getting any closer to them. They think we're winning. They think we're winning because of Spartans. They know they'll never die, but Amy knows differently."

"Okay."

"She prefers not to get close to anyone these days. Can't say I'd blame her."

_Of course, _I thought. S_he's lost friends in combat. Understandable. _"But everyone's lost someone out there." I responded.

"True, but she's lost a little more than _that_, Shakespeare. Beta Hydrii was her homeworld. They glassed it about a decade ago."

I looked back to her. Five klicks out and she starts to inspect her weapon.


	2. Sidetracked

**Sidetracked**

I knew something had gone awry. Multi-axial inertia invaded the pit of my stomach and the engines of the Pelican screamed with delight as if mocking my vertigo. We rolled into a steep bank and everyone grabbed hold of something solid. A sliver of illumination caught the corner of my eye. Moonlight that wasn't there a second ago rotated into view. It razored through the clouds, streaking through the cockpit windows and into the troop bay, then the Pelican stabilized.

We were being diverted. Whether by choice or by circumstance, the troops usually never knew. Apparently our landing coordinates weren't good, which meant the operation was FUBAR or there were now higher priority taskings. I prayed we still had safe options this early.

I still couldn't see anything out the open rear hold, but I knew she could.

"She has the eyes of a hawk."

I looked over again, not sure how to respond. Before I could muster a reply...

"I know some of the men in Lima Company would volunteer to become a Spartan in a heartbeat if they had the chance. I probably would too, in spite of the surgeries they receive."

"Everyone wants to be a hero." I smiled.

"Sometimes, I wonder if they felt any of it. You know? The physical pain, the mental pain...losing their family and their innocence so quickly."

I realized my gaze was frozen to the deck. I looked back at the Marine but he had already turned the other way.

"No bother though." he said, suddenly meeting my incessant stare. "Our unit has a great track record so far with just one supersoldier. Over four-thousand confirmed kills, and the chest candy to prove it. Nice little rack of ribbons and medals on _her_ service dress, maybe you'll live long enough to see for yourself at the next award ceremony."

"Well, I gotta admit that I was shocked when they told me of my new assignment to Zagosa Prime and Lima Company. I still can't believe I'm gonna be fighting alongside an honest-to-God Spartan."

"Consider yourself very lucky, then. Most people only hear about them. You're in the history books just for being here, but remember your OPSEC indoctrination. Don't go yapping your experiences here to all your friends back home. I take it you heard about the first and only Marine to do so?"

"Yeah, I know. I was given explicit instructions not to tweet before I got re-assigned."

"This your first combat drop in Lima?"

"Yeah."

"You excited?"

"Hell yeah! So, if I break the trend and act friendly toward her, will I get in trouble? She easy to talk to?"

"Heh, don't bet on scoring a photo op with her or anything. I think making friends with her is one of those luxuries you'll never indulge in. Me neither, not as long as we're at war. No time these days."

"Yeah, stupid thinking I could. They probably keep her busy as Hell."

"Better believe that."

"And it seems she's only got one friend in this unit." I smiled, "Her trusty rifle."

"Good observation, Shakespeare. Now what'd you say your real name was?"

"Blake Pennington." I held out a hand.

He shook it, saying, "Blake Holmes."

"Cool, another Blake."

He smiled back and we enjoyed the ride for the moment. Suddenly, the Spartan re-entered my thoughts.

"Something about her, though…I can see right through that combat armor, right through that visor."

"What do you mean?"

"Eh, nothing. I knew a girl like her once, long ago. She just reminded me of her, they way she carries herself I guess. Don't listen to me."

"Well, maybe one day you can actually meet her, when the mask is gone and there are no formalities between you."

I remained silent. Holmes seemed a thoughtful and well-spoken individual, though he held a quiet air about him with an implied distance to be kept at all times. I'd heard different dialects and manner of speech from my brief travels between colonies during my early training days. It was the most travel I'd ever done. I wanted to ask him what world he was from, but I felt I'd get the chance later. He added, "Brotherhood might just be all we have left. UNSC is hanging by a thread. Paris IV, Herforst. I was sure we'd seen the end when we lost the Jericho system, but I guess we're still here. Should've seen some of the troops' reactions when they found out Amy was from Beta Hydrii. What's next? People are tired of running and fighting. I'm tired. I know _she's _tired."

What was a polite and stimulating conversation between us suddenly turned grim and sobering. I suddenly felt the whipping of the air around the Pelican shudder into the drop bay and pelt my face. The noise of the turbines grew louder, caught in my ears.

"But there's hope here in Zagosa Prime." Holmes said with a catch in his voice. "We've staved the Covenant onslaught…twice now. The outcome was definitely in our favor each time. It seems quite odd to me, but we must be doing _something _right."

"Yeah, I heard about that while traveling here from Reach. I think it's amazing what you all are able to do here. I'm sure other units throughout the galaxy are watching you all very closely."

"But it's come at a terrible cost just like any other place. Some of us wonder why we don't just pull out, abandon the planet, and take what we have and run. To Reach, Mamore, Minister, somewhere more populated and better defended. Maybe it's propaganda, you know? Instilling hope in people. Keep them fighting. Inspire a few more civvies to answer the call. You never know, maybe we'll win our _own _war right here. Until then, we battle and we fight for every inch of land."

"So, feel free to silence me," I interrupted, "but it seems odd that a Spartan is attached to a small company of Marines."

"No, you're absolutely right. It is _quite_ odd. At least, it would seem that way until you work in this unit for a little while."

"Why do you say that?"

"Look around you."

I did as Holmes asked. "Okay."

"Notice these Marines are packing just a little more equipment than your average Leatherneck?"

"A little, so?"

"It never struck you as odd that you were ordered to take all the advanced training courses and get issued all these extra goodies?"

"Not saying it didn't."

"Okay...ever take time to ponder why a company is led by a Gunnery Sergeant and not a Captain or El-tee?"

"Yeah, why is that?"

"We're highly mobile, Shakespeare. We're not bound by most rules and regs and all that shit. Most officers the UNSC produces are too formal and come with too much red tape. Lima was repurposed about half a year ago. That's about the time Amy came along, by the way. Gunny Smith took the helm and we went from a standard infantry unit to some kinda weird spec-ops, assymetric task force. I'm pretty sure we're the only unit of our kind in the entire UNSC. We have complete autonomy from higher headquarters if we need it. Can't do that with some fresh academy grad leading the charge. That's why we do without them. Not in this place, hell no. Gunny Smith is the acting officer."

"So no one has tried to push the pyramid down on top of you all? Is he going to stay the NCOIC?"

"Technically, yes. Off the record, he's just like you and me. He came up enlisted and he'll stay that way, if he has any say in the matter. Good thing, too. I can't stand lieutenants."

"Why? Because they—"

"—fucking know everything."

"Or, at least that's what they try to make everyone think. The Gunny doesn't seem to be that way."

"Damned right," Holmes nodded, "but Gunny Smith is just as sharp as any officer I've seen, maybe even better."

"He seems like he knows a thing or two about combat, but he's always joking with the troops."

"That's mostly because he can do this in his sleep. It's easy for him. He's got the right personality for leading, in my opinion. He understands troops because he _is _a troop. And he damn sure has the talent. Had one of the best accuracy ratings before he got put in charge."

"What happened then?"

"Nothing. He just couldn't get as much trigger time in at the range because he's always too busy submitting AARs and making sure things were running smoothly out here and back at Battalion HQ. He's just as deadly, but the only proof he has is in confirmed kills."

"Seems like we have the best here."

"Both personnel and equipment." Holmes added. "We do have a Colonel somewhere up there that we supposedly report to from time to time, but I've never seen his face. Guess we're too busy for pomp and circumstance these days. We are pretty much the tip of the spear on this planet. We see action on a weekly basis. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

"No problem here. Consider me born to kill."

"Then I think you'll do just fine in Lima Company, Pennington."

"Why do you suppose _she's_ here? The heavy hitter or something? Ace up your sleeve?"

"It's a long story, but you'll hear it someday. For now, just know that Gunny and Oh-Seven-One have a history together that goes way back, back before even Lima Company was reactivated and recruiting the finest Devil Dogs into its ranks."

"Can't wait, man."

He leaned closer to me. "Lima Company will see some _real_ action tonight, I can just feel it. I'm glad too because I'm angry." He removed his helmet and placed it into his lap with slow, dreadful motion, gritting his teeth. "I was helping a girl cross the street just last week." he spoke slower. "She fumbled with her databinders and they fell, so I ran over to her and scooped them up for her. I checked both directions and sent her on her way. She got to the other side and smiled at me. She would've had such a good life, man, but after she turned around, space debris from a destroyed Seraph crashed down on her, severed both her legs. I'm gonna kill some fuckin' Covenant tonight!"

The ship instantly nosed up, climbing ferociously fast. The mission suddenly crossed the realm between daily routine and utter realism, fate granting Holmes his bloodlustful vengeance-wish.

My bones felt hollow as the lift and thrust of the Pelican overcame its weight and drag.

"Heads up, Devil Dogs! We're goin' in high!" the Gunny yelled over all the noise. "TAC insertion, so get your shit wired and tight!"

"There it is." Holmes said, pulling out night vision goggles from his rucksack. "Straight from the Gunny himself. And what the Gunny says, is."

The already-dimmed lights overhead changed from amber to a forewarning red. I checked and rechecked my ammo, my survival gear, my altimeter, helmet, gloves, Oxygen apparatus, everything.

I paused for a few seconds and checked my breath, my heartbeat caught in between my ears. I exhaled…slowly. Better.

"Tactical Aerial Combat insertions, hoo-rah! Fuggin' love 'em!" someone said dispassionately.

"Doesn't get any more real than this!" another shouted back. "Why we get paid the _high_-cred!"

Holmes leaned over. "LZ's apparently too dangerous for a pelican gunship."

"Son of a bitch." I whispered.

"This could get rough. The whole terrain is probably peppered with Covenant triple-A fire. We're probably gonna HALO it from thirty-thou. I hope whoever packed your chute in the armory put a little extra pride into it. Seems it's running short these days."

I checked the seals on my jump mask. If I didn't check for leaks, I could be flirting with death. The Atmospheric Internally-Regulated Supply (AIRS) was 100 percent Oxygen. Air that high up was too damned thin. For now, I reached for a tube along the ceiling, placed it in my mouth, and was rewarded with some pure O2. The other leathernecks followed suit.

I began breathing normally, flushing out the Nitrogen in my system until I felt euphoria. Too much N2 and not enough Oxygen would inevitably lead to hypoxia up there. I could faint, and thus die because I wouldn't be able to open my chute. Though we all had automatic opening devices, but I wasn't gonna put all my eggs in one basket with an electronic barometer. Even if it did open, I wanted to land awake and frosty and not captured or dead.

I checked my gear and made sure there was no rips. As you approached terminal velocity from 30k feet or higher, the sheer draft of air rushing to your face was enough to take the breath right out of you, not to mention, it was cold as shit up there. I donned my dry suit, made mostly of polypropylene and Kevlar-ceramic weaves. It would keep me warm and stave off the frost bite. It would also subdue a pesky annoyance—a friction they call "rush rash" from the air turbulence tearing at your skin.

Across the deck 'Hazy' Haze had the most comfortable, shit-eating grin across his face. It made me want to laugh. I think we were all feeling the effects of the pure oxy at this point.

Though his reputation preceded him (just like everyone else here), I met him along with my first Lima Company meal at the mess hall a fortnight ago. I naturally took a liking to him. He was outspoken like I always wished I was. But Private Ryan 'Hazy' Haze was the typical loudmouth Marine you'd see in a poorly-written action movie, the ones with gratuitous violence and random, cheesy one-liners. He just turned 21 and got hazed well for it, with a double kegger, courtesy of the Gunny. Gunny Smith thought that maybe just one inkling of alcohol would calm the kid down, but no.

There was nothing really noticeable about PFC Haze. He was just your average Marine to me, but you sure noticed him when he spoke up. He was usually on peoples' nerves just for the sake of it. He was quick to start an argument and quick to keep it going as long as he could, and smiled the whole time while doing it. It took quite a few people a while to realize that Haze was more or less born to antagonize and instigate.

Holmes took notice of Haze and I staring at one another.

"Be careful, he likes to get a rise out of people."

"I know." I studied Haze as he did me. "So, is he all there?" I asked of Holmes next to me. "Is he mentally straight?"

"Wouldn't be in Lima if he wasn't. But it's okay. He's just a little hot-headed. This whole show is just his way of breaking the ice or getting to know you. But God damn, he is actually pretty annoying sometimes. I remember the first day I met him, he claimed to be this weapons guru. Swore up and down the MA5B was the best weapon out there. He would discredit other peoples' choice in armament, I think, simply because he hated being wrong."

"I ain't worried about it," I said, "I always try to be as nice as I can to everyone."

But upon saying tht to Holmes, Haze unbuckled his restraint harness and approached me. Gunny Smith wasn't having any horseplay.

"Haze, get yourself back in your seat before you get ass-stomped by my boot!"

The Private gave a weak sneer and complied. Before seating himself, he the yelled at the top of his lungs over the draft in the bay, "Shakespeare, you nervous?"

I played along. "Me? Nah. Why you ask?"

"You keep fiddling with your shit like it's an erector set. Don't worry! Mission Support Group takes good care of us. Haven't lost a single grunt from faulty equipment...yet."

I nodded to him, gesturing that I understood and suggesting the end of the conversation.

"You did good, Holmes whispered. Frankly, I didn't feel like watching you waste your breath. And I sure as hell didn't feel like listening to him. Trust me...in time you'll understand. If you can end the conversation as quickly as possible, everyone benefits from it. The longer you humor him, the longer he'll carry on. Mostly it just ends in him trying to belittle you or something to that effect, but I think right now he's too at ease from the Oxygen to press on any further. So, again, consider yourself very lucky. Breathe the good air for now."

So we all sat, waiting for the Gunny's signal to jump. The smell of old paint on old metal was infused with the maple syrup scent of the pure Oxygen. The innards of the pelican were definitely worse for the wear. The other birds in formation were likely the same: combat-tested and in growing need of maintenance and attention. Lima Company's small fleet of war horses had already lived past its better days for sure. We were all relaxed, perfectly tranquil in our pseudo-inebriated state, steadily en route to our point of insertion. Our bodies were calm, yet we possessed some hyper-vigilance, some omniscient understanding. I could sense more than the mere presence of the troops, I could sense what they were thinking, or so it seemed. Chatter had ceased and all that remained was concentration. The entirety of Lima Company possessed the same mind at this moment: we were heading into another battle within this great war. Within that collective mindset, there were the individual personalities overriden by years of military training and experience, battle-hardened wits and physical abilities within each of us. Though every person was unique in their own way, we shared a common purpose tonight. Together, we'd act as a single, unified machine engineered for destroying.

The red glow inside the ship pulsated, the pilot indicating we were over the drop zone.

"Here we go." Holmes slapped my kneepad.

The Gunny sliced a hand through the air. Next, everyone looked to Amy. She still gazed out the open rear hatch.

It was weird to feel such a premonition, but right from the get-go I had the hunch she knew we were gonna HALO jump all along.

She jumped.

And she seemed to fall in slow motion, my reflexes like that of a mountain lion.

The thought quickly vanished. I concentrated harder with the aid of an Oxygen-rich brain. I wished this feeling would last forever, but it would subside shortly after I hit dirt and I got that first puff of nature's air. Then I'd be afraid all over again and I'd have to rely on my creativity to get me through. If I survived the mission, I'd probably remember every detail, then pen up the usual poetry on it, and everyone would inevitably read it.

One marine drops, two, three, four. Haze dropped. I'm up.

I approached the last smidgeon of Pelican hull, stading there for just a moment, the rush of adrenaline coming to a climax inside me. Anticipating the free-fall, I pushed off and stretched out my arms like a soaring eagle and I started to gain speed. After a brief second I felt empty, hollow. The wind whipped at my mask. Before I knew it, I pierced through a patch of clouds like a scalpel through onion skin. I was weightless, travling at terminal velocity. The wind was like a draft as it rushed by my ears, much fiercer than the draft inside the Pelican—so far up now—an eternity away as I looked back.

I pushed aside the joy and checked my altimeter. Passing twenty-thou, falling fast, I switched my HUD to infrared. I panned my optics around as slowly and as purposefully as I could as dozens of radar contacts registered in all directions—the rest of Lima Company falling into loose formation. As I took in the sight of white caps forming atop the surf far below in the moonlight, I hoped we'd all make it.

I fell through a last remaining squall of thick cloud layer. Emerging on the other side, there was the landscape of Zagosa Prime. I ccould barely see it even with full gamma correction. But I could make out the outlines of riverbeds, mountains, valleys. There were never city lights on after dusk, not since the colony-world was discovered by the Covenant some months prior. Indoor light usage was heavily policed at night so that no more than a hundred lumens escaped the troposphere. And no more than a deciwatt shows up on aerial thermal scans. They couldn't know _anything _about how or where the UNSCDF staged from, especially any Special Ops Forces stationed here. Most importantly, civilian lives were at stake on a daily basis just by someone plugging in a toaster oven. Most people had below-ground fallout shelters where they spent much of their waking lives.

I checked my air supply as I sailed closer to the land. I hadn't yet asphyxiated so I must've been doing well. I still had about 25 liters compressed at 800 psi. All green and in the norm. Another reading from my altimeter: eighteen-thou. Per standard operating procedure, the Gunny would be coming over TEAMCOM any second for mission objectives and ground formation parameters. But nothing came. The Gunny's Staff Sergeant instead broadcasted over the net.

"Gunny! Are you awake? Gunny! What's the sit-rep?"

Command orders came directly from Intel and we're fed to Gunnery Sergeant Smith in real time. If he couldn't give them to us, we'd be lost. The Staff Sergeant did the only thing he could do: he executed the command for the Gunny's stim packs to activate. Just glorified olfactory refreshments—alcohol in the breathing apparatus. The raw scent of isopropyl would surely wake him up, assuming his blood wasn't saturated with Carbon-Dioxide at this point if it was an apparatus failure. He'd succumb to respiratory acidosis, a ninety-percent fatality rate. All we could do was pray he hadn't lost his air supply.

"Worrying won't change anything at this point." the Staff Sergeant said, feeling our thoughts. "We would all love to have the luxury of worrying, but we're still falling. Press on."

Another two-thousand feet went by and the Staff Sergeant came over the net once more. "Listen up, team. Covenant light infantry have taken up positions around the Foreclay Mining Facility. Provincial Marines and battle-ready personnel have taken up defensive fighting positions all around the perimeter of the complex, but the North side is hurting for aid and reinforcements. This is where we come in...

"We need to hoof it to the North side, link up with host combat personnel, and dish out some pain to the uglies. At dirt, set up formation Delta. We go swift and silent to the rally point...on the tac map now. Medics take care of the Gunny at touchdown, give me status on his condition and advise on medical proceedings."

Two green acknowledgement blips illuminated in the upper-right corner of my HUD near the TEAMCOM designator, and thus everyone knew the combat medics understood.

Without warning, my AOD deployed the parachute and negative inertia sprang in me. I was halted from terminal velocity to just a brisk float. Shortly after, I checked the altimeter one last time: seventy-five meters—perfect height for a combat landing. Minimal hang time meant I could disappear into surroundings very quickly. Stealth was now my first objective.

Again, my thoughts went to Smith as I lingered for a moment not too far above a row of pine trees, floating steadily down. But there was nothing I could do.

So, my thoughts instinctively went to Amy. I wanted to be alongside her as we made our way through the tangle. I always had a fascination. I was mesmerized by the rumors, the buzz of media outlets, of Section Two's efforts. I was caught up in the fervor of humanity's last, best, green-armored hopes. Now I'd see those hopes put into action with my own two eyes and I could hardly wait.

It seemed as though the ground rose to meet my feet.


	3. Jungle Heat

**Jungle Heat**

Firm pressure impacted the soles of my jump boots and resonated upwards through my shins, to my knees, up my thighs, and into the base of my spine. I was too damned focused on details to remember to bend my knees at touchdown. A slight pain draped my lower back until I willed it away. I almost instantly lost my balance and started to topple to one side, but I threw a palm out to the ground to catch me.

I hovered there in a half crouch, my assault rifle leveled into the forest. Drawing a deep breath, I studied the edge of the treeline. The forest stood out. The wooded tangle obscured what possible threats lied further in. I panned my eyes in a slow, undulating S-pattern, holding my ground perfectly still and balanced, breathing deeper. I felt one with the shapes of pines and furs, got a good feel for the earth below my feet, inhaled the scent of fragrant tree sap and dank moisture in the air. I became a spectre.

If the enemy was remotely combat-savvy, they'd spot at least one of us from considerable distance.

I pulled my chute inwards, crumpled it and detached it from my back. It was buried along with the wrapper of a freshly-eaten nutrient wafer.

I discarded my spent AIRS reservoir and inventoried everything I had—made sure nothing flew away on the ride down. Combat knife, ample amount of med kits, flares, smoke grenades, camouflage tarps, RFID chits, my Spread Spectrum radio, spare ammo, and most importantly my primary weapon—carabinered to the front of my armor. My sidearm was holstered at my hip.

All ship-shape.

I prayed the other Marines made it down as easily.

I disrobed my polys and shoved them into my rucksack. The jump ensemble was priceless and my best friend on TAC missions. I would reuse it again someday...hopefully. Higher-ups would have us believe they were worth more than all the training and background investigations spent on us.

I pulled down the HUD over my face and scanned to the left and right for friendlies, performed a head count once I identified the first Marine in sight. All present and accounted for, all groundside, two minutes later. But the icons were stationary. No one moved. I calmed my worst suspicions by occupying myself on a jungle scan once again, realizing the rest of Lima Company was likely accomplishing the same, getting situated. With any luck, no Covenant forces were stationed this far out from their own objective: this backwoods mining outpost.

To the distance were strings of thunder claps echoing off the looming foothills of the valley, resounding gently like the pounding of tympanies. AAA fire where we would've touched down. Intel was at least spot-on in one aspect of the mission.

Our original LZ was no good; we were far away from where we should've been. Only the high-ranking strategists and analysts in some unknown bunker knew what kind of impact that currently had on our mission as they studied the broader picture. But everyone knew that where one advantage was lost, another was gained. We now had an element of surprise on our side. Exploited long enough, we could avoid contact. We could approach from an unanticipated vector, unnoticed. As I scanned my surroundings like I was trained to, I couldn't help but steal a moment and wonder why the Hell Covenant uglies would be interested in a mine shaft. Were they were hurting for resources carrying on this drawn-out campaign against Zagosa Prime? I hadn't known any planet to meet a fate other than glassing as a Covenant campaign progressed, but maybe they saw this planet as special. Maybe they wanted this one for themselves.

During the course of my week-long inbrief to the combat element of Lima Company, I'd learned that this Covenant expeditionary force employed an almost defensive posture as they rooted themselves across the many continents. They scattered their forces at first, making it harder for space-borne assets and force recon to track their movements. Intel analysts the planet-over could not form coherent assessments, or at least any assessment that was in agreement with others. No one knew the enemy's strike patterns, they were so inconsistent and sudden, ending almost as quickly as they occured. With hit-and-run tactics on civilian targets, they driverted UNSCDF geo-location resources en masse while their more robust brother units advanced on military industrial centers. When any of their FOBs were discovered and subseqently attacked, they devoted significant firepower to defend them, simultaneously dispatching remote units to again invade civilian populations throughout the globe, suggesting that each disparate sub-army had the exact same objective: to buy each other more time. Time for what?

Maybe it was a war of attrition. Tire us out. A slow death from a thousand cuts. No bother, the human spirit was forever a stubborn one.

I always knew I'd see which side was victorious in my lifetime.

I stayed put until the highest ranking said otherwise. So I sat, waited, no comm. traffic.

It was radio silence now as the rest of Lima Company was live.

I checked my gear until I was convinced it wasn't going anywhere. I took a sip of water. My elation was officially over, my blood no longer Nitrogen-free. My senses came back to normal and all the waiting built more anxiety, threatening to overcome my confidence. I felt vulnerable, a sitting duck, a bullseye myself. The only comfort to be had was the fact that it was dark, barely any moonlight with so much cloud cover. I was trained to hold out, nevertheless. I couldn't jump to conclusions—a risk in itself.

A crackle came over the net. Anticipation was getting the better of me.

Another bout of static.

"So…thought the old Gunny was gonna sit this one out, did ya?"

I let out a thankful sigh. Green acknowledgement lights flashed like fireflies across my HUD and I soon joined the silent uproar.

"Word is," the Gunny resumed, "We're green for go. Formation Delta. For you newbies out there, Amy's got point. She is in tactical command. Between us and the rally point, there's ten klicks of jungle and squid bait. Let's get some."

The moment I had been waiting for. The moment all of us had been waiting for. For nearly two weeks of downtime, it was finally time for the next round of payback for the Covenant. The UNSC Defense Forces of Zagosa Prime had pushed them back before, and I was sure tonight I'd get to join in that fight for the first time.

I stood up to move forward.

Zagosa Prime's only natural satellite appeared now as a crescent high above and the clouds were squalled. Intermittent periods of moonlight ebbed and flowed through the wisps high above.

I scanned for the Spartan—at the head of formation. A duffle bag was slung over her torso, buldging with the mass of weaponry within. I doubt I could carry half of what she currently burdened through the thick undergrowth surrounding us.

Lima Company assumed the wedge-attack, the unit's preferred offensive orientation: an equilateral triangle capable of unthinkable mayhem.

I was auto-assigned to the left flank, about equidistant from the rear corner and the point. I bolted to that position and took stock of the surrounding jungle, intent to focus. I not only covered fore, but left as well. Visibility was merely fifteen meters, twenty with my the aid of optics. The coal that lined the layers my battle dress absorbed body odor. Jackals were incredibly aware of their surroundings, able to exploit the environment against their enemies as much as they were to aid themselves. It was unallowable to be sniffed out before they saw you. It resulted in near-instant death.

My eyes darted to the lower-left HUD-quadrant, my bio monitor. Only slightly elevated heart rate. Normal respiratory rate. I queued a refresh command and watched the graphs recalibrate while marching forward in sync with Amy's tempo. My eyes widened in the darkness as I swept my rifle to the left, scanning. I high-stepped stones and logs and twigs, scanning to the right. Lima Company treaded lightly—the wrong move was usually your last.

I scanned up and down a tree just a few strides in front, to the left again, back to the front.

The distant bombardment grew steadily louder. The artillery batteries were likely in place only to deny UNSC aircraft their well-planned sorties. Amy flashed a red light over the net. She flashed another single pulse, then another. We stopped and every single combatant dropped to a crouch, then I started to pan the jungle expanse around me, looking so hard that I almost wished I had a target in sight—something to annihilate. Nothing.

She came over the comm., "Sergeant, there's a snag ahead."

"Go." the Gunny replied.

"A rock wall thirty meters out."

"Do you suspect snipers? Ambush?"

"It's an ideal spot for it."

"Roger. Good work."

I was amazed. Amy could see thirty meters in this shit. Her assessment mirrored my instinct—trouble was just around the corner. We relied on Gunny Smith's experience and cunning to get us through the looming obstacle.

He managed to get a plan of action going quickly.

"Holmes. Recon. Go."

A caption appeared above an amber diamond in my HUD. It read: CORPORAL HOLMES, BLAKE | AR-60. The words hovered over the bright icon as it moved from dead center of the pack towards the front, near the Spartan. I watched this play in my HUD as I tried to track the real thing with my other eye.

I saw the dot stop right on top of the one at the apex—Amy. It stayed there for a nearly thirty seconds. They were speaking. Maybe she was coaching, formulating a plan on-the-fly. I scanned the trees to my left again.

I saw the icon move. I looked forward. Holmes began to advance, alone. With another twenty meters to the rocky embankment, he slowed his step, approaching ever so cautious. Lima Company watched and waited patiently, uneasily. Hopefully, he'd be the bearer of good news; there wouldn't be an enemy patrol or the suspected ambush waiting to ensnare. But it was foolish to let a thing like hope matter more in such a hopeless age. The Covenant were momentus in their drive to annihilate anything human.

He placed his back on the cool, wet stone, I imagined, as his bright icon shifted slightly. The massive, stony chunk towered high above him. He waited, perhaps stealing a breath, steeling himself.

A moment later and he must've peered his head around the edge. I saw an ever so slight movement of his icon—a sliver—a sidestep to the right. He jockeyed his weight over a jagged stone beneath his boots. A better view around the bulwark was all he required. He froze and his body tensed. Like lightning, a thin, purple lance shot out from somewhere in the darkness further beyond. Another shot was placed and terminated into the dirt fifty or more meters aft of him. His vitals flared. Silent alarms flashed all over my HUD. Something happened.

Then, two quick bursts from a human rifle exploded in the forest and rang out everywhere..._cu-cu-klak...cu-cu-klak._ Twin echoes followed in report.

"Hostiles neutralized." a feminine voice said. "Jackal sniper-scout pair." she added. "Minor lacerations to troop twelve's ulna. Someone should patch him up before he loses too much blood. Do it quick. No further contacts registering, but I don't know if anything else out there heard that."

I suddenly realized it was Amy talking, the same smooth, feminine voice that comforted me and somehow steeled me at the same time.

I searched for her waypoint. She had moved...far. I was too captive on Holmes to notice at first. Amy was a good forty meters from where she originally was.

A medic met Holmes once he attained cover again. Up against the slope of the rocky wall, Holmes laid out his forearm while treatment was administered. The entire unit took up covering positions all the while, slowly contracting towards the center of formation.

I could see him clearer as I neared. He breathed in a painkiller inhalant. He was quiet through the entire ordeal, even when he took the blow of the energy beam. Five minutes was all we owed to the incursion. I wondered how much element of surprise we had remaining.

Amy sent us further. She hastened the pace, led us into a half-sprint.

Now, the adrenaline that once reigned my bloodstream was beginning to dwindle. We passed the rock where Holmes almost lost his life, a puddle of human blood where the sniper beam struck. Lima Company trotted along in single file down a river bank with steep flanks, Pawnee seedlings lining the slopes on either side. The baby trees could have provided ample cover for friendlies and enemies alike.

The stream snaked hard-right and almost instantly disappeared into the darkness mere footsteps away. The steep slopes leveled out to flatness. We emerged at a clearing. Far at the end was another curtain of forest. The field we now faced was incongruous to our strategy. Pale wheat grass and clay reflected everything. The moon seemed to bathe the land in perpetual illumination. We all thought the same thing as Amy threw up a fist.

Every Marine had glanced at one another during the pause. Any stealth we still possessed would be announced as soon as we stepped foot onto that field. It was the perfect kill zone. Covenant war parties could be anywhere in the trees bordering the plain. Embedded IR sensors in my HUD could not receive emissions past a hundred meters. Too much distance for thermals to reach me undistorted.

But there was utterly no choice. We had to cross. The objective was no where but ahead.

Gunny Smith chimed in. "Spartan Oh-seven-one, how high is that grass?"

"Just shy of a meter."

Once again, sound advice coming from the veteran. "We low crawl." he ordered.

We dropped to our stomachs.

I slithered as fast as I could atop the dirt.

It always seemed when you were suddenly faced with new challenges, you often overlooked the simple solution, assuming every obstacle was insurmountable. As I pumped my muscles, I began to think things weren't as bad as they once seemed. It was human nature to prepare one's self for the worst, which wasn't neccessarily a bad thing given certain circumstances. These weren't the right circumstances, though.

We must've slinked along in the dirt for a mile, or so it felt. My body became sluggish. My abdominal muscles were on fire and growing unresponsive. I didn't have the heart to look up and gague the distance remaining.

I stopped for a moment wondering when the pain would subside enough to carry on again. I checked my HUD. The formation had scattered, a third of it in front and the remainder scattered throughout. Both Amy and the Gunny tolerated it by indication of their silence. Different humans had different capabilities. I took two more breaths and crawled some more.

A flock of birds passed by me overhead, a swarm of black blotting out the stars. The flock scattered, split apart and each member pursued vectors of their own.

Two or three chose a spot a few meters ahead of my position and landed in the dirt. There was a flash of light. A shockwave. A gentle ringing in my ears. Cataclysmic detonation flew over my head.

White.

I lied there in peace and quiet. My vision remained blank. I knew perfectly well what happened, but something took a hold of me, overriding all thoughts. It was possible I still possessed the will to stand, but it seemed easier to linger, to sleep.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

I woke up, somehow. My eyelids flickered and my cheek muscles quivered as I tried to open my eyes.

I was sprawled out on my back, lying in a field. Tall grass swayed gently all around me. The wind was calm. The night sky was clear. No more cloud cover. The air was cool and brisk. Starlight reached my eyes as I looked around.

There were people all around me. Their silhouettes wore concern.

More focus now. The weren't merely shadows in the moonlight. The clothes they wore were black.

Black, with subtle stripes. Like tigers, their shapes shifted when moving between blades of grass, closer to me. Clearer and clearer, the haze in the air roils away.

Black uniforms with matching helmets, rifles in their grasp.

Faces materialize. I recognize them all.

I felt no fear as I spoke.

"Mine?"

"Yes." a smooth, tender voice replied. It was Amy and she rested a hand on my shoulder, firmly urging me to lie down. "You're in shock. We're taking care of you."

"Roger that!" I said jokingly. It hurt to smile. "How many birds' lives did I cut short tonight?"

"We're giving you a stimulant and we're checking for concussions. Lie still."

I breathed in an inhalant pack and I immediately felt alert again.

"You're very lucky that mine hadn't been closer to you."

The memory of the blast came back to me. "Well, any more of them lying around? I'd prefer not to experience that again. Especially in the same night."

Haze placed a hand on my shoulder as I sat up. "We found the other mines while you dozed off. Thanks for being the guinea pig, by the way."

"You bet. Anytime."

I stood up and took stock of the situation. There was now a hole a half-dozen meters in diameter where I might've crawled. The crater was at least two meters deep. The area around the blast was black with soot. Deep inside were feathers and bones.

"Son of a bitch." I looked ahead and saw some other Marines already at the forest's edge, peering inward.

Amy glanced that way, suggesting the urgency of our situation. "Can you walk?" she asked.

"I'm ready."

"Move out." she broadcasted.

A few more steps and I crossed into the next woods. Not as dense, this forest was more easily navigable. It was a clearer shot to our objective—about three klicks out, I could see pulses of light far ahead between trees.

The Covenant artilery fire was more pronounced now. Though a mortal danger to everything in its path, I was comforted by the constant pounding—a mask over the mine I activated. Any enemy presence ahead was oblivious to our imminent approach.

"Heads up, everyone." came the Gunny over the net. "We're closer to the Covvie emplacements. We have a small directive from Command before we continue with the mission. Alpha priority is now the enemy artillery. We're gonna take those things down so reinforcements can land at Foreclay. Wait for my command when we attain visual. Stay frosty. We're not outta this yet."

Lima Company intuitively resumed Delta formation and I took up position at the left flank once again.

I swept up and down. I combed the landscape left and right with my rifle—nothing yet.

I continued the motions as we paced through at a jog. The moonlight was a pale prismatic ray as it brushed through the treetops. A subtle breeze whisked through the leaves and livened the woods.

Amy flashed an amber light. _Stay cautious._

_I'm already cautious._

In my training days, I was instructed to interpret a single amber ping as the point man feeling something. It was a silly thing, classmates always said during breaks. And I don't know why I remembered that piece of the day's lesson so long ago, but as I observed the rest of Lima I knew the lesson was not forgotten by anyone here. They all settled into a walk and hardened their stances, peering as hard as they could into the night. They held their weapons closer, tighter. It was just a feeling from Amy, but it was to be treated as legitimate cause for concern.

We walked slowly, purposefully. For some reason, I froze. I hadn't even known why, it just happend out of pure instinct.

There was a tree in front of me, but it was unusual.

It was devoid of any branches. Something about it was simply wrong, just a thick, bare stalk, save for the extreme crown high above. The trunk was completely bare except for twin branches that grew downward rather than up. It was unnatural to me. Since the days of Darwin, it was common knowledge that limbs grew upwards so that photosynthesizing leaves could gain greater access to sunlight. I had never seen or heard of anything like this. At first, I mistook them for damaged limbs, which would justify Amy's hunch—signs of an earlier battle.

But it would seem as though someone had deliberately destroyed the branches of this tree in front of me and chose not to finish the job. It made no sense. But I began to understand…they weren't branches. I was frozen, now in fear for my life.

I was unable to move, paralyzed at the realization in front. Every hair on my statue-like body was raised. A surge of adrenaline nearly choked me.

A Covenant Elite, its back rested up against this tree.

A single sound, a single rustle of leaves beneath my feet and I was dead.

I tried to regain bearings. I tried to discern its color, know what I was up against. Before I could signal for help...

The HUD bathed my eyes in five milliseconds of blue light, just enough to catch my attention. It was Spartan 071. I heard a whisper in my ear.

"It's a blue. Sangheili Minor. It doesn't sense you. You'd be dead by now if it did."

I stole a slow, steady breath.

"I think it's just resting." she said.

"Umm, what's the prognosis?"

"I don't detect any EM coming from that direction so its shield must not be powered up. Grab your knife and go straight for the jugular."

"You're crazy."

"These things rarely rest. Do it now or you're dead."

_You do it._

My fight or flight sense kicked in, and it was to backpedal in silence. But that was utterly impossible. I would surely give myself away. As I took another moment of thought, I knew she was right. It was a miracle I hadn't been lying on the ground in a pool of my own blood already.

I unsheathed my combat knife, slowly, silently. It glinted in the moonlight as it ascended my waist.

I brought the serrated side inwards, the ideal position to mangle a throat from behind. Maximum damage for a quick and painful kill.

I looked around me as I prepared. I envisioned the kill and my blood warmed. The alien in front was raw power and represented the pure hatred of one species toward another. Under the most primitive weapon the galaxy ever knew, the Elite would falter for merely a second, and that's all I would get. Kill or be killed.

I held my breath and crept forward.

I positioned the knife. The tip of the blade was at the extent of my reach, facing inward. The Elite towered over me. It did not seem possible I could kill this beast. But I began to brace my weight against the tree it rested on, careful not to touch anything else.

I inched the knife around the girth of the stalk, the weapon in my hand now hovered over its windpipe.

I inhaled a breath so slow, so quiet, the skin over my face began to cool.

"Take it out." the Spartan said.

I closed my eyes.

The adrenaline in me exploded. Without concience, I hammered the point of the blade deep into delicate flesh.

The first thing it did was clutch my hands with its own. The grip had power beyond my imagining. Its paws were like vice grips, like metal on flesh. My knuckles began to swell as I held onto the blade. It twitched and jerked in my grasp and unleashed the most hellacious roar in all of the valley.

It tried to wrest itself free from the grasp of my two arms, thrashing side to side. My forearms pounded against the treetrunk as it oscillated, then it started to shriek when I began twisting the blade. Its gyrations grew far more violent as it felt the possibility of life slipping away. I wrapped my free arm around its torso, held it there by instinct. Pure killer instinct I had never possessed.

I sent my other hand over the knife, dragged the length of the submerged blade to the right, to the left, severing its alien vocal chords with all my might harnessed into the hilt.

It then merely gurgled and thick fluid drained over my palms. Suddenly, its whole body went limp and fell to the dirt in a heap. It instantly succumbed to hypoxia. The alien alveoli were saturated with Carbon-Dioxide and it's own bluish gore. Its entire body shuddered violently for a full six seconds, and then silence. Stillness.

I stood over my kill, motionless, in awe. The throbbing in my hand subsided just as the alien's life had.

I had killed before. Not like this.

I breathed heavily for two minutes. Lima Company's presence evaded me for that time.

I looked up once the adrenaline-burst left me completely. I felt a drain. My hands swelled from within. The Marines gazed at me, my kill. A splinter of remorse stung slightly. But logic soon overruled. The Covenant would always be the enemy—always. They started this War. We wouldn't stop ours.

I snapped out of it as a green light flashed in my HUD.

I inspected my knife and wiped the alien blood onto one of my pant legs. I stepped over the body, forcing myself not to look back as I moved on.

* * *

The raging of the anti-aircraft artillery fire was now deafening. I could see one battery up ahead in the middle of a wide clearing.

Just a broad platform with three, stout legs. Atop the platform was a station designed for a small occupant to maintain, a Covenant Grunt. A slew of glowing fire controls lit it up like a fusion coil. The whole weapon system had a unique auto-loading mechanism that absorbed huge rounds of ammunition stacked on the ground below it. Like clockwork, rounds raced into the sky, bursting into brilliant white-green spheres of energy. Air was displaced and starlight distorted in the wake of their detonation.

"Heads up," said the Gunny, "we've got four gun emplacements dead ahead, hundred-meter spread, twenty-five meter interval. I've selected two snipers to take out the two Elite guards to the extreme right. Everyone else, stay put and scan for hostiles. Pick the remaining targets amongst yourselves. All teams: fire your weapons at the same time the guns discharge in order to minimize presence. Once the guards are neutralized, rocket jockeys will take out the guns. Immediately after, we high tail it straight to the friendlies at Foreclay and to our final objective. Get to it. Out."

The elements crept into their positions. I moseyed up and further to the left, scanning for enemy infantry along the way.

I found myself in position at the threshold to the field and found a comfortable niche at the edge of the treeline. I scoped in—I was within a reasonable shooting distance to my targets—two jackals at two hundred meters out. They provided cover for a Covenant grunt operating one of the guns. I studied my targets as much as I could. If they had patterns, I'd become an instant expert at them.

One jackal carried a Covenant particle beam rifle—standard issue sniper gear. The other clutched a plasma pistol tight in its clawed extremity. The pulsating green light from the gun cast a haunted glow on the lower cotours of its bird-like face.

The guns sounded off, rhythmically and forcefully. The grounds shook even this far away. One jackal craned its neck higher in the air, sniffing, tracing a scent. I knew my suit attenuated the odor I was no doubt producing by now. The alien placed its attention back to its weapon—inspecting it, calibrating some sort of backlit knob on the grip. The other was oblivious as it issued orders to the little one operating the gun, an opportune time for our strike.

The Gunny blared "Fire at will!"

The AAA guns recharged, loaded, and surged to life. Each battery glowed from within and sequentially prepared to fire.

Four thunderclaps rumbled. All of Lima Company fired in unison. Eight Jackals and two Elites unceremoniously fell over from what would seem nothing at all.

The grunts operating the machines had no idea what just happened as they prepared for another salvo. Then, four warheads riding on supersonic plumes of white propellant sailed through the night towards their places of business. Four seconds elapsed and they slammed into the Covenant quartet of artillery and reduced them to twisted metal and sparks once the smoke cleared. All that remained were fountains of multi-colored flame as we rose from our position.

We sprinted through the field as one. After a faint amount of breath and sweat, we reached a shallow precipice that overlooked a deep valley below.

"Ah, the sweet sound of silence." I said wholeheartedly.

"You mean the sweet sound of violence." Haze replied, returning a snicker.

All of Lima Company could see the main structure of the mining facility, lying about two klicks out in a shallow basin. Ethereal gunfire echoed off the valley walls. Columns of tracer rounds flew away in slow motion from the facility at the North side where the biggest concentration of Covenant forces were. And it was bad.

The Covenant could completely surround the entire outpost if they desired. Unbeknownst why, the enemy masses only preferred to seige the North. Diminutive small arms fire from the facility did what it could against the massive Covenant mechanized force that dominated the landscape. To the East, West and South, the aftermath of recent skirmishes was present: many Marines and human civilians lied motionless. But our collective hearts sunk as streams of more anti-aircraft artillery raced skyward in the midst of the Northern occupation.

One by one, we broke into an all-out sprint, Amy forcing herself not to break away from the pack.

Scattered and driven by haste, Marines came within a furlong of the Southern entrance, a well-cordoned off maintenance yard. Large crates even vehicles surrounded the main bay doors in a horseshoe fashion. While the barricades provided ample cover for those behind them, it was obvious UNSC Defense Forces had little-to-no time to prepare for this attack.

The Gunny began to radio the station. We willed our legs to pump just a little harder, a little faster.

The formation was now a loose gaggle. Elements of Covenant patrols materialized to left and right, vacating their cover. Not a single one of us went unnoticed as we raced down the hill and toward the Southern entrance. Alien limbs waved on other comrades to engage Lima Company.

We were dead in minutes.

The doors to the facility didn't open despite the Gunny's unrelenting hailing, even as he ran full tilt. Less than a minute and we were overrun.

Sweat and pain and fear drowed out my vision. A small personnel door adjacent to the main bay doors opened and a slice of light poured out into the dirt, a figure inside outlined. No uniform on, an elderly civilian dressed in plain clothes. The door was held open despite the danger and its only occupant waved us on frantically.

Barks and rabid screams poured into the basin from East and West, inexorably closing in.

Not paying any mind to the intense lactic acid I felt coursing through my legs, I ran my hardest dead on into the building, seemingly no way of slowing down what I set into motion. Within spitting distance, we began to pour through the door single file as only such an entrance permitted.

We pushed and we shoved one another through, mindful not to induce a trample. Hordes of Jackal and Grunt and Elite scurried in our direction from both sides further aft, merging to a point the closer they got. I wasn't the last in line, but I was still outside. The parting of air behind our heads and a warming sensation only meant plasma weaponry was discharged upon us with high accuracy. I stammered through the threshold and prayed for those behind.

The last Marine was almost indoors, then lost footing. The Marine got hit square in the back right between the shoulder blades. Air spewed out of his lungs with a yelp. He involuntarily lurched forward into the facility.

Amy appeared last and slammed the door behind her, static electricity crackling all over her body.

"Look out!"

The voice cried out from somewhere else...inside. Just as our collective eyes looked in that direction, a speeding forklift emerged and nearly ran the entire company over.

The narrow hallway we arrived at had barely the room to accomodate the forklift. It blitzed through, barely missing Marines as they slammed their backs to either wall. Its velocity was unnerving as it sped straight towards the South door, carrying a giant steel container on its forks.

Amy yanked the injured private off the floor a nanosecond before the forklift claimed them both. The load flew by and was practically right on top of the outer door when it locked up its brake rotors and screeched to a halt just short of it. The tines dropped to the floor with a _clang!_ The cargo slammed down with a chest-rattling echo.

Amidst molten rubber streaks in the floor, the forklift reared backwards. Muffled thumps came from outside not even an instant later as the furious horde opened the door only to have it halted by the container. Just as well, the smell of burnt metal and ozone was their reply as they fired every plasma weapon they had. The burning smell wafted through the door seems. All the steel glowed a dull red. The Southern contingent hoped they could simply melt their way in.

The forklift driver then took action again, not tolerating any risk. He set the twin lifting forks at waist height and the engine screamed to life. He sped forward and smashed into the container, jamming it further against the outer door. He left the forklift there and yanked on a parking brake.

Sparks and screams and howling was all that remained, all heavily doped with rage. The forklift's engine then sputtered down.

The pandemonium outside gradually diminished and gave way to gentle moans and frustrated wailing. We were convinced there was no chance of them breaking through. We thusly slumped to the ground and gasped for new breath. Amy stood facing the freight that braced the doorway. She remained that way until the enemy lost faith, grew silent and sauntered away.

Gold rings of light encircled her body, ascending from the ground up like a rising spirit took up residence inside her colossal suit of armor.

Strangely, the sight was beautiful.


	4. Foreclay Outpost

**Foreclay Outpost**

I lay there on my side, panting. My legs were no longer on fire, but they tingled all over with the sensation of a thousand fire ants living inside. My feet were no use, numb. My arm was beginning to feel that way too as I rested on it. Fresh rubber lay in streaks right in front of me where the forklift struggled to stop. I checked the dimensions of the load it dropped at the door. It was wide enough and relief washed over me even as the steam and smell of ozone poured outward from where the massive freight met the door jambs.

I looked around the long corridor that barely accommodated the giant forklift. Everyone was here. We didn't leave anyone behind. One of the guys I hadn't met yet was on his face, a patch of steam rising from his upper back. It was the young man pierced by Covenant energy weaponry—probably a plasma pistol. I replayed the last few seconds of our narrow escape: a glimpse of him stammering through door as it just about closed. Amy came through and slammed it shut, just in time for her to scoop him up and clear out of the way of the speeding load that saved us all.

I looked up the hall. The civilian forklift operator was still in the driver's seat and was slumped forward, head resting in his arms—folded atop the steering wheel. He sluggishly dismounted the exposed cab, looking like he'd seen happier days.

Everyone slowly got up one by one, checking for injuries, brushing off dust. Some had already begun personal inventory.

I then looked for her. She was still standing, almost right behind the hulking steel container that kept the enemy forces at bay. She remained stationary, eyes ever glued to the doorway as she spoke up.

"Is this what you've been using as a barricade all along?"

There was no answer for a few seconds, then the man dressed in blue maintenance coveralls stained with grease and blood pushed himself up and out of the forklift a few paces behind her and approached the Spartan's side. "Yes, it's the best we could think of…ma'am." His eyes widened as he just realized he addressed a female. The motion to rear back was written all over him. He found it hard to remain where he stood, but there he remained, petrified.

He slowly turned around and walked back down the corridor, snatching the hat off his head, pressing it to his chest and shaking his head.

"Hey." Amy called out, wheeling around to face him.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned. "Yes?"

"It's a fine idea. Good job. I am Spartan Oh-seven-one. You may call me Amy. What is your name?"

"Name's Hal. Hal Overton. Mighty pleased to meet you." He rushed over to her and held out a hand, almost regretting he did. But he wasn't greeted with the bone-shattering grip he might've expected. She was quite gentle and perceptive of his limits.

"How's the rest of your facility? Is the structure at all damaged? Are all entry points intact?"

"Yes they're all intact and holding. Those Covy peckers are gettin' through no way no how!" He quickly gestured to the container, saying, "We've managed to seal or block all access points with setups like this, but I don't know how long the Omega Wing will hold out. There's just too much Covenant trying to get in over there."

"Where is Omega Wing?"

"It's due North and slightly West of here, where all the action is. Just follow the signs overhead."

The Gunny approached the two and listened as intently as he could, checking himself for embeded needler shards. "That must be the North side." he chimed in. Gunny pulled out his rifle, checked the ammo count, then unholstered his sidearm to insert a fresh clip. "Everyone check yourselves for needler microfragments and check your gear. Make sure your shit's ready to move out."

Hal grabbed the suspenders of his coveralls and faced the Gunny in vexation. "What do you plan to do, Sergeant?"

Gunny Smith raised a brow, looked at Amy and walked off.

Amy saw the Gunny off with a sidelong glance down the hall, then placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "We're taking back this mining station. We're moving up to the North side where we will push back the enemy far enough for an air assault to effectively eradicate the Covenant contingent." She looked on towards the Gunny, Hal unable to gauge her face, and marched down the corridor.

Hal swallowed and stared at her as she leisurely paced away.

Haze got up and moved towards Hal with that antagonizing smile on his face. "Don't worry, she just tries to look like a hard-ass in front of everyone. But I'd recommend making sure that the parking break is engaged. If that door opens, she's gonna have someone's nuts in a ringer, ya know?"

Hal hurriedly entered the forklift and did as Haze said. The humorous Private winked at me and followed the rest of the pack down the hall. I was the last to leave.

A couple of NCOs hefted the injured Private with his arms draped over their shoulders. I hoped the young man would make it. A single bolt of plasma had the ability to melt right through standard-issue armor, as well as layers of flesh underneath it. Though I couldn't believe I made it unscathed, I didn't have the gaul to wait around and ponder it.

The walls were a thin white styrocrete—just durable enough to prevent someone from crashing through it if they lost balance…or if they dove into one running from a hot Covenant pursuit. I hoped the outsides of the facility weren't as frail as the insides. But this was an industrial complex. I knew that places such as these had to comply with certain building codes. With any luck, the superstructure was solid steel and the outer surfaces were concrete reinforced with some good 'ol titanium-A to ward off our enemies. But it seemed as if the Covenant wasn't trying to level the place. They certainly had the capability with the force held at the North side. Something told me they would've done it already. Something at Zagosa Prime piqued their interest. Something unbeknowst to Lima Company and to HQ. It was why they've accepted such a beating from Zagosa forces and kept asking for more. We'd happily keep dishing it out.

We approached a T-junction at the end of the hall. Hovering overhead were two brown signs—left leading to Operations/Maintenance/Admin/Gamma/Omega and the right leading to Med-lab/Infirmary/Storage/Dining Hall/Gymnasium.

As we approached, Amy nodded towards the right and the two NCOs dragged the injured private towards the medical facilities with one combat medic in tow.

The rest of us veered to the left towards the Omega Wing.

The Gunny stopped. "We're making a quick stop at Admin. We're getting a copy of the blueprints on this place so we know a little something of the battlefield. We may be holed up here for a while until we're able to provide Air Staff with a feasible strike parameters. So fire team Foxtrot and fire team Zulu: you will accompany Amy to admin while myself and fire teams Gamma and Quebec head on to the North side."

I thought it was a risky move—splitting Lima in half. But it seemed a necessity. Granted, we needed to fend off the Covenant at the Omega Wing, but we'd need those blueprints if we wanted to keep the advantage over our enemies. I knew Lima to be capable at holding back Covenant forces, but I would never rule out the possibility that the alien bastards could win in a ground engagement. This was a brigade we were now dealing with. There was still a chance that they'd overrun the combat personnel at Omega Wing and push deeper into the facility. We needed to keep the high ground in case that happened. We needed the blueprints for Intel. So much depended on fire teams Foxtrot and Zulu getting to Admin and acquiring those schematics.

It was a double-edged sword: damned if we did, damned if we didn't.

Such is the life of a spec ops Marine.

We set off on our way. The halls we entered began to feel like a rat maze. Long and narrow corridors went on and on with office doors stemming off from them. A junction here, a junction there. Only ninety-degree bends adjoined them, blind corners perfect for swift ambushes. Had any Covenant already infiltrated the complex? I doubt anyone knew. And the ceiling was obtusely low. I wasn't a claustrophobic, but I just might see the other side of myself if I was cooped up in here too long. The whole path we tread was way too bright with intense fluorescent light. "I'd like to hit the architect of this place with one of their ceiling tiles." I said.

"Good luck." Haze replied. "The architect is probably long gone. This place is pretty old. Thought someone like you would know that."

I checked my canteen to make sure it wasn't leaking. I made sure it had enough water for the long haul.


	5. Off on a Tangent

**Off on a Tangent**

I was satisfied with the condition of my water supply. It was probable now that it'd be the last chance I would get at any sort of sustenance the whole night—maybe for longer. After a quick stop at Admin for those outpost blueprints, we were headed to the thick of battle. That much was certain.

Off one of these beaten paths was Admin. Supposedly.

Navigating the forests earlier was a much easier a task, it seemed. Marching cautiously down a hall only to come to an intersection adjoining it to another, the navigation had no end in sight. A seemingly unattainable destination. The view ahead was terribly limited and changed abruptly too often. As illogical as it would suggest, I pictured the jungle we traversed earlier and felt it to be safer, amidst wildlife and camouflage-like trees and the cover of night. The sweat on my palms, the heartbeat between my ears, and a breeze counteracting it all.

Lima Company was still together, though. Besides the four that went off to medical, we had a common direction, though once we reached Admin all would change again. We'd split up and Gunny Smith and fire teams Gamma and Quebec would take on the Covenant insurgents at the North side. My first gut instinct would be to go there as one if I were in command, but it was still a double-edged sword. We could all get there and meet our enemy head-on, but we'd be underequipped in the long run if we were overrun with no OPSEC on our own turf. And that was sorely needed within these damned halls.

Did anyone know exactly where these files were located? How much time would the remanining company search for them while Gamma and Quebec battled? As we meandered forth through this maze, still as a single unit, I issued a silent prayer for the two platoon-sized advance teams.

We were halted by the Gunny. "Someone radio Foreclay personnel at Omega Wing and let them know we're en route."

"I got it." I said, accessing my LMR device.

Transmitting, I was instantly rewarded with about 30dB of harsh reverb. There was too much backscatter from the structure itself.

"Sarge, there's too much passive interference. Must be more steel and concrete here than we thought. I'm going to try and patch into a building network."

"Roger that, Private. Do what you can and keep me in the loop."

"Affirm." I took a few more steps down the hall until I came across an OM5 fiber conduit. Soldiers passed me by slowly as I pulled out an RJ-90 cable from my rucksack. I plugged the FC-II connector into the wall outlet and patched the other end it into my HUD. A handshake protocol, a seven-layer OSI structure, and next I read that a link was established—something on the T-band at about 2.9 THz. I nestled the incoming frequency in between a pair of generously-spaced guard bands, and sent it straight through to the Gunny on an encrypted link (just like I was trained). "Sarge, you're live."

"Good work, Shakespeare."

Rather than hold a private conversation and explain to us later, the Gunny shunted his conversation straight to TEAMCOM.

"This is Lima Company, UNSC Special Operations Defense Forces Zagosa. We are en route to Omega Wing. What is your status?"

Static and a disembodied voice came back, all warbled and fuzzy. "_This is Sierra Company_. _We are experiencing heavy casualties. We need immediate assistance and MEDEVAC. The cordons are being breached. Too..many_…"

The channel went black.

The Gunny shouted over TEAMCOM, "Alright! Double time it! Go!"

The company broke out into a sprint, sliding around right-angle turns at the end of corridors and blowing by their accompanying signs overhead. Left-right-right-left-right-left…It went on and on, until finally after two minutes of full-tilt running we arrived. Off to the left of the hall were wide double doors made half of Plexiglas from the waist up. We stammered through and frantically made out several offices, all of which could contain what we were looking for.

"Change of plans, everyone." the Gunny announced. "I'm staying at Admin and Amy is going to the Omega Wing. Fire teams Gamma and Quebec, hit the North hard and give 'em hell! We'll be right behind you."

A series of acknowledging clicks came over the net as they sped down the hall and disappeared again down another forsaken walkway. I started to wonder what kind of plan Amy would execute out there. She'd be in command of everything at the North. But any doubts I had of her quickly vanished as I told myself she was a Spartan and...

"Shakespeare, check that office! Rios, check that one! Haze find another one to search! Everyone, start going through the files and find me those blueprints!"

We all jumped to our tasks like we just got struck by lightning. Marines scoured through filing cabinets, desk drawers, and electronic logs, all frantically on the move in the tight confines of the cubicle-laden space.

"Shakespeare." Haze said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know how to crack a safe?"

"You enter in the combo."

"Okay, smartass. Can you pick a lock?"

"Yeah." I said smiling as I made my way over to him. "Let's see what you got here. Okay, fairly old container. This is a Brigger Nine-Thousand, should be easy." I pulled from my rucksack the standard lock-bumping kit. Straight Pick, Jagged Pick, graphite lubricant...and all I needed to supply then was a pair of steady hands. I sprayed the inside of the lock with the lube, then inserted both tools until I could feel the tumblers' vibrations through the picks held in my fingers. I finnagled and finessed the picks up and down, until I heard a series of satisfying clicks. Once they were all in proper alignment, the picks laid into place with no effort required. With one smooth motion, I twisted the Jagged Pick one-eighty degrees clockwise while maintaining positive pressure against the casing with the Straight Pick, until the bolt fully receded.

"There ya go." I said. "Good luck."

I proceeded over to an unexploited area of the office, quickly hacking my way into an electronic log like a thief with an addiction.

Haze laughed as he ransacked the antiquated security container I just opened.

"What?" the Gunny asked.

Haze picked his head up and looked at all the Marines in the room.

"Look at us." he said while scouring the container. "We're trained killers doing office work for the Corps. This is not the kind of job I signed up for."

"Well, then hold on, princess, while I fetch you some capuccino." said the Gunny as he kicked over a desk.

"Capuccino is a morning drink, Sarge." Holmes quipped.

"Aw, who gives a shit." replied the Gunny. "It's fucking caffeine, and...damn, I could use some right about now."

After about five minutes of ransacking and idle chit-chat, Haze was finally the one to find them. He briefly inspected an e-log that he retrieved from the safe we opened, marched straight over to the Gunny and handed it over. "Sarge, do I get a pay raise or what?"

"If we both come out alive tonight, you'll get a 3-day pass on the town. Believe me."

No one knew whether the Gunny was joking or not. He had that face that was chiseled out of solid marble. You could never figure him out.

We moved triple time as fast as our legs could carry us down the halls. Then, something unexpected triggered our training instincts once again. The lights went out. We froze and activated night vision. It seemed as though my heavy breath put a bull's-eye right on me as we assumed statuesque stances.

"What the hell just happened?" said the Gunny.

"Must've cut the power." Holmes replied.

"Nah, that's impossible." Haze countered. "This place has got to have some kind of redundant power grid. One goes off, another comes on. That's how these places operate. Thirty-two hours a day, seven days a week, and zero interruptions."

"How would you know that?"

"My Father was a miner. Check the blueprints if you don't believe me."

"Gunny has 'em, stupid."

"Check your files. I scanned them and uploaded them to everyone…stupid."

"Oh."

"A _big _raise." the Gunny cut in.

"Okay," Holmes announced, "Haze is right. Redundant power alright. But it's not coming on."

"Could they have knocked out _all _the power?" came the Gunny.

"No way in hell." Holmes asserted. "The facility has a _huge _grid with triple redundancy. One external plant—they _could_ get that one. But even if they did, they'd have to get two others…and they're both _inside_ the complex. One near Omega and one under us, powered by geothermal."

"So why am I seeing blackness?"

"Could be that the backup for this sector will only charge when there's thermal activity down below."

"So then what about Omega Wing power plant? Would these sectors siphon off power in the event of a total loss?"

"No, Omega's juice is apparently only for Omega. And maybe that's why we just lost contact with them as well. They could have literally just knocked out Omega's power too. Now that I think about it…"

"They cut the power?!" Haze but in. "What do you mean _they_ cut the power? How can they cut the power, man? They're animals!"

"Radio over there and confirm that." the Gunny reasserted.

"Accessing…no signal. The wireless network runs off primary power. We need to get closer to the North side so we can hail them on Land Mobile Radio."

"Shit. Alright, we carry on to Omega. Formation Indig—"

"_Quiet..._" someone whispered. "Hear that?"

We all froze, everyone looking like green assassins in the blackness through my HUD. I held my breath and concentrated. Then, I heard it. Faint sounds. Metal clanging sounds, like a hammer against sheet metal. Like something in the vents.

"Gunny, we've got company in the vents!"

"Move! Move! Move!"

It was primal instinct.

I heard clanging all around, responding to our quickened footsteps—combat boots pounding into the floor with no etiquette. A green haze filled my blurred vision from my NV-tasked HUD. I struggled to look behind as I ran, wondering if the comrades behind were in step with the ones in front.

"Where the Hell are they?!" someone screamed.

Did anyone have a clue?

Fear overwhelmed my thoughts, forcing tunnel vision. I became my own fear, as if I turned into some reckless beast charging into the unknown darkness. The clanging grew louder, LOUDER. I almost lost my nerve while styrocrete buckled and broke all around us. Metal grates dropped from their duct seals and toppled to the deck. I heard barks and screams and howls so loud that it seemed to emanate from right beside me.

My insides were on fire, my adrenaline exploding throughout my weightless body as I plowed ahead at full steam.

I heard noise to the left, to the right, back and forward. Our enemies lived in the walls and surrounded us completely. Our only hope was to stampede right through them.

"Switch to shredders!" yelled the Gunny, running as fast as he could.

I desperately fumbled through my utility belt, trying to fish out a clip as I ran with a forty-pound burden strapped to my back. My search came up good and I swapped hollow-points for a full clip of shredder rounds. I pulled back the charging rod and disengaged the safety.

"Fire at the vents!"

I could barely hear his voice under all the combined pandemonium of our heavy footsteps and Covenant ruckus. The Gunny must've been too shaken to key his command into TEAMCOM. But soon, it didn't matter. He fired and others followed. The hallway strobed with the shimmering flashes of our rifle muzzles—spitting out chaos and death. Showers of sparks bathed the confines of the narrow walkway as metal and chunks of wall blistered and flew apart. And the sick, horrific music of the Covenant war party was drowned out at each squeeze of the trigger.

We turned a corner. The sign pointed towards the Omega Wing. Hopefully it wouldn't be much further now with enemies swarming all around. How the Hell they got in was something of a mystery. How the hell they knocked out the power, was perhaps a mystery we'd never come to solve.

We still ran like demons, the howling and screaming diminishing only a faint amount. An office door to the side opened. From it, emerged a small simian creature with a mask over its face and a Covenant energy weapon in hand. I didn't bother to see which of the ghastly species it was. I just poured whatever I could into it as I blasted by without a passing glance. There was a yelp and a few convulsions, but apart from that, I couldn't see anything more. I heard the alien topple to the ground behind me with a wet _Ptoomp!_

Hopefully it was dead and wouldn't cause any problems for the fire teams behind me.

I could feel the wind rush past my face as I ran with all my might and endurance, but it was stronger than before, almost pushing against me. It was a draft of some sort. Accompanying the source of the draft was a faint glow not far ahead. The illumination gradually became so bright that I was forced to relinquish my night vision. I no longer had the upper hand. As we ran closer, the light was an irradiating glow—so bright that I had to squint. I could no longer tell how far away it was. I just kept running closer to it—no idea what was at the end.

Shadows danced across me—my comrades in front. My eyelids involuntarily shut, the light so bright. The glow pierced through my lids, embossing bluish-purple spots into my non-existent vision. I placed a hand out in front, out of air and sight and the will to press on, hoping to run into something. A friend. A Marine. Someone.

But there was nothing but empty air striking my chest.

Just then, at my last shred of faith and breath, a hand grabbed mine and pulled me inward with a jerk. The light faded and my vision cleared. It was Amy, harsh golden light reflecting off her opaque visor.

More and more troops made it through as I peered aft. The light still seared into the hall we emerged from, the corridor seeming to suck it all up. Blending with the darkness, hundreds of creatures swarmed and stumbled and stampeded over one another not far behind the last of Marines to cross over. The Covenant mob chanted something odd and horrid, the shrieks and the wails overtly declaring a frantic appetite for blood and pain and death. The last man made it through and Amy threw her half-ton MJOLNIR bulk into the heavy steel door. The off-color music faded into near silence as she leaned forward to press it into place. All the while, someone unbeknownst to us pushed past and began keying a sequence of numbers into a nearby electronic cipher lock.

"It's quite fine now. You can stand back. It's a class A vault door." the man in a white lab coat announced.

Not a second later, muffled thumps came from the other side.

We stood there and caught our breath again. I took a look around and felt relieved that we caught up with fire teams Gamma and Quebec. Lima was whole again, almost. It seemed like this was our life story, like this running and hiding and praying would never end. The civilian in the white didn't look our way, but instead went immediately to eyeing a datapad in his hand, seemingly unperturbed by the ravenous alien horde just on the other side of the door. He raised a brow as he flipped through documents and scratched his nose, mumbling something to himself.

Haze rose from his hunched-over stance and drew one deep breath. "Are you sure those bastards aren't just gonna pour through and rip out your damned lungs?!"

"Ah yes," the civilian replied, "I can see your cause for alarm, but it's quite alright now. You're in Omega Wing. It's heavily reinforced with adequate defenses. If you are settled now, you'll find amicable accommodations as well. Would you like something to drink?"

"Hell-fuck naw! I _wouldn't_ like something to drink! They're in the vents! We need to setup DFPs for when they come through here!"

The scientist clenched his jaw and looked upon the rest of us with an implied body language that amounted to disappointment. "Do _not_ worry. The HVAC for this wing is internally-routed through underground passages. If you choose not to believe me, ask your Spartan to back-brief you on the situation here. I'm going to be in the laboratory. If any of you require sustenance or medical attention, please visit the lounge on the third floor. I believe the med-lab is no longer a safe place."

"Fuck!" Haze broke out. "Dietz, Hawkings, Seltzin, and Richardson are still out there!"

"We'll get to them in time." the Gunny consoled. "They're four strong guns, five if the other heals fast enough. Right now," Smith faced the other man, "just tell us where the action is."

"The Marines are over there," he said, holding up an outstretched arm, "about three-hundred meters further North. Follow the signs to Shipping and Receiving. They are at the loading docks holding off the Covenant."

The Gunny prepared to take off. "C'mon, everyone. Let's get some fresh air and leave the civvies to their…duties."

We followed our leader and ran down a slew of gently-sloped service ramps. Off to the sides were exposed freight lifts. More like an air terminal than a mining entrance, couches and rows of seats lined the walls. Massive steel girders occupied the ambiance high above. Forklifts and robotic loaders and other machinery took up most of the floor space. The disjoined rhythm of staccato gunfire echoed into the enormous chamber we sped through, originating from the space somewhere beyond a massive doorway up ahead. We all hoped we weren't too late as the reunited Lima Company whisked towards the action. Finally, a set of massive double doors was the only thing that stood between us and our real mission. We could complete it.

Amy brought up behind Gunny Smith as he punched in the command for the doors to open.


	6. Omega Wing

**Omega Wing**

The blast-grade doors slowly heaved themselves apart and the sound of combat became intensely apparent. Fresh rays from the early morning sun streamed in and surprised us at how much time had gone by. I was expecting a sudden transition from the calm interior of Omega Wing to the battle raging outside, but I didn't fathom anything like this…

I actually felt small as I never had before. Past the loading docks, past the rows of pallets and boxes and trailers occupying the bay just outside the doors was an epic panorama of carnage. Bodies were strewn about the arena under the massive awning that stretched out from the loading docks, which was half twisted and smoldering itself. Craters dominated the plains outside the courtyard. Tractors and forklifts and transport vehicles were on fire, toppled, thick smoke billowing into a network of ashen ceiling-blankets. Plasma bolts and grenades and needler rounds criss-crossed into the cavernous loading bay. The UNSC combatants were scattered, without cohesion. And it was plainly evident that they were losing because of this fact.

"FUBAR." Haze whispered.

Something else grabbed a hold of our attention. A warthog roamed around the perimeter of the courtyard attempting to circumvent the enemy forces. It barely avoided enemy fire, weaving in between wooden pallets and plastic boxes as they shattered all around it. Rare-earth metals spewed everywhere from within, catching the light of the day and glittering in report. The driver was wide-eyed and panicked, barely managing the all-terrain vehicle's torque. It slid recklessly around tight corners and lost precious seconds off its pass. The passenger riding shotgun was slumped over, dead from a massive head wound. The rear gunner jostled around in the rear bed, struggling to get an angle on any target. At least he was still alive and firing.

The sheet metal canopy overhead stretched out at least a regulation grave ball field and restricted our view of the Covenant force just outside. Amy ran forward and jumped down off the wide loading platform and into the courtyard below—a good two meters down.

She radioed what she saw. "They've got wraiths, plasma shades, and what looks to be brigade-sized infantry out there, Sergeant. At this rate, we'll be overrun in a matter of minutes unless we pull a rabbit out of the hat."

"Roger. Any suggestions?"

"Affirmative. Let's join in and push back as much as we can. When we can push no more, we fall back into the safety of Omega Wing."

"But they'll keep coming. These blast doors are tough no doubt, but they won't hold out forever against that kind of firepower."

"Leave that to me." Amy turned around and looked up to Gunny Smith. "Remember New Constantinople?"

I didn't know what she meant, but the Gunny nodded in accordance—something they shared between them that no one else knew. He motioned for us to jump down and start digging in.

We jumped down and it was a fierce drop. I remembered to bend my knees at impact this time. I wasn't taking any chances now. I checked the ammo count displayed in my rifle's LCD and made sure my spare clips were at my side. I brought the butt stock to my shoulder, pointed the barrel downrange, and scanned for hostiles. Scanned the maze of boxes. _There!_

I pulled the trigger once.

One jackal down.

57 rounds still in the clip—plenty for this kind of work.

I looked further: we faced another double-edged sword. We had enemies in the maze of the courtyard. It was the perfect hiding spot for Covenant assassins. Far ahead, we had long-range targets, mostly triple A and heavy ordinance, mechanized forces. This was the worst battle I'd seen, heavy odds already stacked against us. What had we volunteered for?

I suddenly saw all the friendlies that had taken cover run towards us. Amy must've hailed them and given them a real set of orders—something they could work with. And the Covenant forces produced their own reaction to her commands. The maneuver apparently made them reassess the strategy that netted favorable results thus far. The attack reached a brief ceasefire as we all pulled in close. Something worked. No more energy mortars decimated our allies in the far reaches. With the sturdy metal awning overhead reaching out so far into enemy territory, there was no room for their artillery to arc towards us from above. Not without impacting the awning. It seemed as though it could still hold. They'd be forced to either send in all their infantry into this bay or they would have to risk exposing their vulnerable artillery by bringing it in even closer to our fire. And we were packing surface-to-surface rockets. And if they moved their artillery, their brigade's organization might not be inline with their commanders' intent. This could open up the possibility of a preemptive air strike. That would save the day. So, the ball was in their court. We waited while we jockeyed for defensive positions and stole pop shots at the front lines. Random thunder resounded off the hangar walls and steel support trusses as our snipers chose which enemy's life expired, smoky fingers reaching out to touch an unsuspecting someone. Blurry bodies dropped in the distance, their alien blood spraying adjacent comrades.

I stepped over to Holmes. "How's that arm?"

He gave a brisk nod and a thumbs up.

The last remaining warthog vehicle came rushing towards us and skidded to a halt at the side of our formation. I looked over towards the hog and was rewarded with a liberating sight of a gauss turret. That would smash the Covenant heavy forces. It had a nice range to it as well. The Gunny jogged a few steps over to the vehicle and asked, "Who is your highest ranking?"

The driver responded, "I am. Staff Sergeant Steve Valvalaris. Orders, Gunny?"

He told the driver and gunner to concentrate fire on the wraiths steadily approaching while medics tended to the passenger who was KIA. Lima Company (minus four) and a few Marines and civilians stood their ground and faced down the onslaught to come.

"Their mortars are useless in here," the Gunny announced in a comforting tone. "Worry about their small arms fire first while rocket jockeys and the warthog fire on the tanks. Oh-seven-one, can you confirm that their artillery is on the move?"

"That's a negative. They are staying put out there. They anticipate an air strike."

"Smart bastards…"

"Sir, permission to break ranks," Amy asked. Where was she going?

The Gunny thought it over. "Permission granted," he replied. She picked up a green duffle bag off the floor and sped off, not looking back. We all watched her head into the gauntlet of boxes and pallets to the right and disappear into the shadows. I looked back at Gunny Smith. He had his head bent to the ground, biting his lower lip. I hope they both made the right choice, whatever it was. It felt lonely without her here now. I could feel Lima Company grow a little smaller. It must've been for the better though. I concentrated downrange. The front lines of the Covenant were a little too far away to get a good shot off. All we could do was wait...and see what it was that our Spartan had in store.


	7. The Battle Outside

**The Battle Outside**

The sun was nearly at eye level, our massive hangar bay flooded wall to wall with its aura as well as hundreds of Covenant.

Though I knew none of us would surrender merely at the sight of an enemy, I couldn't help but feel we were outnumbered and outgunned. They engulfed the whole complex, a Covenant bottle-neck forming at the entrance to the massive storage yard. Nearly the entire mass of aliens squeezed into each other, pressing and pushing to get inside. Echoing from beyond the alien horde were the tell-tale thunderclaps of anti-aircraft artillery racing high into the sky. Their destructive discharge prevented friendly air forces from carpet bombing the whole damned alien-infested valley. That this Covenant force was still here only meant that space-based assets were offline as well.

I looked over at Haze. He was frosty as the poles of Zagosa, though frosty was perhaps an indescript word for his particular appearance. Angry—he was extremely angry as he stared down the Covenant mob inching into the cavernous bay just outside the Omega Wing fortress. He winced and glared so fiercely with anger, lipids formed on his cheeks, blister-red. I could see the four marooned members of Lima Company weighed heavily on his mind.

But I began to sense something more as he glanced my way. He hated them just as much—if not more—than those who had experienced personal tradgedy during the War. He wanted to make sure that these purple bastards paid the price for what they'd done so far—the death and destruction laid unto Zagosa Prime and the human race. I would gladly join him no matter what the outcome.

Every rifle was raised. Every crosshair was fixed. Every Marine dead-set.

We were ready to complete our mission.

But this wasn't another Covenant sub-unit that was scattered about Zagosa on guerilla runs. Lima and other combat units had dealt with plenty of those before.

This was the entire expeditionary force. They all gathered here and now. I looked at the swarming mass of them, bustling and angry and extremely noisy as the din reached my ears from the other end of the yard. Surely, Command hadn't dispatched Lima Company to prosecute this battle alone; the enemy Brigade had already routed Sierra Company. They were no longer a complete unit by CENTCOM's standards. And one and a half companies could not defeat this.

It made me wonder where Amy was.

_Why did she volunteer? And what did she volunteer for? Why did she go alone?_

I shook it off and looked beyond again, anticipating the first salvo. Hopefully, I'd see her again if I made it to the end of this day.

I squinted through the crosshairs atop my rifle—too fuzzy. The uglies barely filled in the reticule, plenty of space in between the sideposts. The sensation of recoil bursts and the sight of alien flesh imploding was soon to be delighted by all Marines.

They marched ever closer.

"Range?" called the Gunny.

"About seven-hundred meters, Sarge." a designated marksman called out. "Scattered out-targets at various distance as well."

"Snipers, fire at will." he returned.

I peered out into the distance toward the edges of the hangar bay. Far past our combat radius, Covenant engineers were mulling around the load-bearing support trusses, attempting to figure out how to disassemble the massive canopy section by section. It was feasible given enough time and they could take it down piece by piece if they wanted to, but I knew their Elite commanders would rather die charging us than win with precaution. Fortunately for us, it was in the dumb bastards' nature. They were the most arrogant living pricks the galaxy would know.

I stepped over to Holmes as thunderous cracks of sabot rounds left sniper barrels. He was now just like Amy, distant. Distant unlike the Covenant army breathing down our necks. They marched closer and closer, inch by inch, all inhabitants of the bay knowing that the real battle was close at hand. Their alien craniums could now be seen over the lines of pallets and boxes. They were willing to sacrifice their own for a shot at the Omega Wing. And for what? What was here that they wanted this desperately?

Holmes never took his eyes off the incoming enemy. "It looks like they've gathered here." he said to me. "All of them this time. I don't know if we can tackle something like this, Penn. Can we push _this _back like other times?"

"I don't know," I said, "but I do know we won't wait long to find out. Don't worry, just don't let them get inside."

The Gunny broadcasted into the net, "Listen up! If you see _anyone's _vitals flash a red, you immediately look where they're taking fire from and I want that corresponding fire team to double and triple up on the attacker. We made it all the way here. Let's not let any Marine die today!"

Green acknowledgement lights flashed in sequence.

The Gunny yelled at the top of his lungs, "Now, what is a Lima Company Marine?"

And we responded with the unit's battle hymn, "_Sir, a Lima Company Marine is a highly motivated, truly dedicated, aim-high-never-die, rompin' stompin' Covenant-droppin' machine…Hoo-rah!_"

"What?"

"_Hoo-rah!_"

"What?!"

"_HOO-RAH! HOO-RAH! HOO-RAH!_"

Our unshakable music saturated the cavernous bay with a rolling thunder. I knew the enemy heard it.

"You're God-damn right!" he shouted with eyes aglow like an apex predator. He turned towards the approaching front.

A thin, purple beam shot forth and struck someone right next to me in the rib cage. "Medic!" I cried.

"Jackal sniper!" Sergeant Smith shouted. "Sixty degrees, one-forty meters out, in the crates!"

"Lots of 'em!" a spotter broadcasted.

The Gunny waved Marines onward. "Foxtrot Team, Zulu Team: fan out!" He supplemented his order with a tomahawk-chop hand signal. "Whiskey Formation!"

Someone rushed over and pulled the fallen Marine back behind our formation as two dozen or so friendlies broke ranks and comingled in with the maze of supply crates dotting the bay. I glanced backward at the medics, but it was no use to wonder the wounded warrior's status. I was in the front lines and my attention was needed in the fight to come. Another energy beam lanced right past my ear, missing it by a few inches. "Shit!"

A Lima Company sniper rifle responded back with the pull of a hare trigger and a thunderous snap. Instantly after, globs of multi-colored plasma streaked from the other side, splintering pallets and boxes in between the two infantries, just wild shots intended to incite fear and confusion.

Our Gunnery Sergeant took a knee and acquired more precise aim. "Fire!"

We filled the expanse with bullets. Three or Four lines of the Covenant infantry dropped from wall to wall past a line of shattered obstacles. Their allies trampled them down steadfast and kept coming, now at a jog.

"Grenades all!"

Immediately after the Gunny gave the order, every Lima Company Marine simultaneously ripped high-explosive fragmentation grenades from their vests, primed them and chucked them as deep as they could into the bay. Several barely noticeable arcs of smoke poured in from either side as well, further out. The combined, three-sided volley arced over the approaching front and detonated just above a contingent of grunts and jackals, smothering them in devastating concussion, dust and shrapnel. When the haze cleared, there was nothing left of those first few ranks. But another wave approached, this time complemented with low-ranking Elites and a foursome of Hunters—whipping their ruinous fuel rod guns side to side for a demoralizing show of force. If the walking tanks got the chance to come within range...

"Sarge!" I pointed.

"Copy. Rocketeers, Fire!"

A double-volley of rockets let loose from various locations within Lima Company, all intended to annihilate the Hunter threat. Three of them found their marks and the hulking beasts fell over with a succession of heavy thuds. Secondary kinetic effects took down Grunts close by. The one remaining looked at its fallen brethren and let out the most dreadful cry I ever heard.

It charged straight for us. It pushed aside commerades and powered forth with ill-regard to its own, trampling those under it. The rocket jockeys reloaded as fast as they were able while we poured what we could into it. Shredders, hollow points, armor-piercing rounds, nothing could stop its rush. The armor it wore was dense. We started to inch backwards as it got within a stone's throw away and we knew some of us wouldn't make it out of this fight alive. It began to veer in my direction, its armor bouncing and clanging as it shook the ground with its heavy step. There was no escape for me and I couldn't dodge fast enough. I curled into a ball hoping it would trip over me at the last instant.

My head started to shake as it lumbered down, then a thunderous snap resounded in the chamber and the ground shook even more heavily, my teeth rattling. Then, the noise and the rumbling stopped instantly. Stone flooring cracked and sprayed my helmet as I looked up. The giant creature had nose dived into the ground. Sparks formed beneath its armor as it slowly halted. Ginger-colored ooze seeped out of its back. I looked up and was face to face with the dying monster, a vapor trail lingering in the air from the side. Someone had shot out its back through a tiny gap in the armor. A luck shot, maybe.

I stood up slowly, checking myself for injuries—none. I had no time to thank whoever it was who dispatched the Hunter. The din of combat pervaded my senses again. I stood up and chose my next target, ducked, and felt a flurry of crystalline energy needles streak past my side, sweeping towards the blast doors behind and ricocheting off its unbreakable bulwark.

Snipers took care of a few front-line Elites before the well-disciplined split-lips could line up any coordinated fire while the rest of Lima Company loaded the bay with a variety of high-velocity projectiles. I stole a glance to my left flank and confirmed the heavy-handed sound of an M-247 Machine Gun wielded by Amy. She had materialized at just the right moment. Her green-armored figure barely moved despite the weapon's massive recoil. She operated the thumbstud triggers like a seasoned Aerial Gunner: in short, tightly-grouped bursts, only when needed. And with natural instinct, Marines lurking in the shadows further ahead spewed out harassing fire to the flanks of the Jackals and Grunts marching down the center aisle of the bay. With no choice, the approaching enemies repositioned their multicolored shields to the left and right, leaving an unprotected hole for Amy to exploit with massive firepower. Dozens of enemies fell under her barrage.

When the Jackals swiveled their protective devices to face her, once again Teams Foxtrot and Zulu either harrassed or killed outright.

More and more began to fall and I sensed the momentum was ours, then a squadron of Covenant Banshee aircraft rose from the ground very far away in reply. Their canards soon began to glow a distinct purple haze against the amber sun. They soared our way with barely enough ceiling for them as they zoomed beneath the awning-capped expanse.

Lima Company would soon face fire saturation from above. And the Covenant troops ahead weren't stopping their advance. Our forces numbered too little to prosecute a two-sided battle, and every Marine knew it.

"Everyone, throw grenades now!" the Gunny commanded as he studied the incoming threat. We complied and threw our second salvo of grenades to the front. Once more, chaos reigned over the nearest enemy lines, stunning them. In their momentary confusion, Smith then ordered: "Now everyone, fire at the fliers!"

We followed the Gunny and waited for the bogies to come within range. Each Marine emptied round after round until everyone was forced to reload. Depleted Uranium bullets ricocheted off the purple hulls. Eventually the weak, unshielded armor cracked. The vehicles began to smoke, a dead giveaway at impending failure. One by one, they began to lose what little altitude they had. The outcome of the Gunny's tactic rewarded us with six destroyed airframes plummeting to the ground, some landing on the Covenant infantry. The remaining two strafed hard and broke away at maximum thrust. They soon disappeared into the sun.

But even more infantry emerged as the bodies steadily accumulated, simply littering the Covenant frontage, this time with more Hunters and Elites than before.

The Gunny ordered another salvo of gernades from Lima Company over the enemy lines. The strategy worked quite effectively and yet the enemy Commanders were not adapting—and I wasn't surprised. The Covenant either refused to change their methods out of pride in their sheer numbers or technology, or Lima Company was simply more battlewise. It turned out to be the more they advanced, the more sluggish they operated as they met the blockades of their own, dead commrades. And the majority of their close-air support was destroyed—now non-existent.

With no aerial threat, the Warthog then had enough safe distance and pulled the vehicle ahead. It swerved to the left, skidding to a stop in front of our formation. The turret operator lined up targets, already had a prioritized plan of attack and immediately went to work. The gun dispensed heavy gauss slugs into any heavy target as if prescribed to them. Elites and Hunters were prime prey as lower infantry from both sides traded shots. They all fell one by one by the railgun's immense lethality, bodies thrown back in a blur.

Hunters certainly numbered too many at the present and wisely took stock of their unexpected outcome. A single vehicle was inflicting fatal damage wherever it struck and the Covenant numbers began to dwindle by the pairs. Hunters adapted.

They began to meander their way through the mazes undetected. Occasionally, I'd witness a set of antennae blur between boxes. They were able to hunch incredibly low, beguiling their size. They pressed further on as our rounds pinged harmlessly off the visible portions of their dense armor, two of them now within range to use their fuel rod cannons if they decided to emerge from what meager cover there was. Just _one _blow from such a weapon would put Lima Company in a daze. If they got in close enough to neutralize the Warthog, it was only a matter of time before the Hunters turned their sights back to Lima Company infantry.

Pure luck saw against it. Just as a Human rocketeer was zoomed in for the kill on a Hunter pair, he received a pleasant surprise: a Marine's grenade landed right at a Jackal's feet, blasting the turkey's shield out of its grasp and clear across the entire battlefield towards its allies. It frisbeed through the air fast enough that it took a Hunter's head clean off through the gap in its armor, leaving its bond brother so furious that the can of worms never saw the RPG that whistled its way. The Marine's leftover rocket was used to target a lone banshee that returned to battle for a surprise strafing run. The Covenant flier would've surely caught us off-guard, but instead was instantaneously converted into a flying glob of molten metal and plasma that showered its cohorts down below. The large group of unlucky Grunts and Jackals at the crash site were crushed and instantaneously reduced to blue-purple mist, spraying adjacent allies and wreaking more havoc in their catastrophic advance. With weapons raised, we cheered.

In our brief revelry, a few lucky shards of Covenant needler rounds seeped into Lima's formation and found a few marks. One Marine let out a yelp as a single fragment ruptured his stomach, blood and bile leaking out his waist. Another one of us was much more unfortunate. A dense mass of the pink crystals tore their way through her armor and clustered inside her chest. What was to follow was the most ghastly occurrence in my life. Her torso exploded. My HUD no longer received any of her biometric telemetry. She was gone.

"Janine…No!"

The sight gave every Marine pause. Haze froze where he stood, unable to process what happened. Instantly, he broke out into a full-on automatic fusillade. He swept his muzzle wildly side to side and emptied his entire clip into the air in front. "Now _you _die!"

He began to charge ahead.

"Private Haze!" the Gunny commanded. Our senior NCO ran to the bewildered Private's side. "You will contain your fire, Haze. You're doing nothing but peppering the air." He then placed a soothing palm on top of his rifle, and Haze reluctantly lowered it. "She's gone, Private. If you really want payback, you'll make your shots count. Fall back in line."

Into oncoming fire, Haze ran over to her remains. On bended knees, he scooped up her dog tags and gave them a good wipe across his battle garments to clear the blood. "So long, Janine." He sobbed and forced back the tears, finding a place in formation next to me. I readily rememberd her face and what her personality was like at the barracks. She was talkative, friendly, and she had a sense of humor that was genuine and contagious. She was always cracking jokes at mess. She was just like Haze. She would be missed.

I threw an arm around Haze's shoulder. "Janine was a good kid. Let's let the uglies know just how good of a _Marine_ she was!"

Haze nodded coldly, his face devoid of thought and fear. The two of us banded together through common rage and popped off pinpoint precision rounds, nailing a score of grunts and jackals in center mass. They fell over like bowling pins.

The collective enemy wasn't fazed and pushed on and on as we dwindled their numbers. I was forced to reload, during which time I ran a quick roster of those still living. Seven dead. Seven of us to at least a few hundred of them, I gathered.

_I'll buy that any day._

A lull in the Covenant advanced occured. Much of the front line troops placed their attention rearwards, focusing on something more important than us. More of them fell in their stupor. Something was back there. Before they regressed, they looked our way again, backpedaling, retreating.

"You're shitting me." the Gunny whispered, swiping a hand downward in a _cease-fire_ gesture. "I don't believe it."

The hordes of the Covenant army were now running back toward to the sun, leaving behind their fallen warriors, their munitions and their falsified valor. Once they were an amicable distance away, something odd occured. For some reason, the army parted in half. There was no particular reason for the maneuver, but in an instant it all made sense. The army was clearing a path for something else, making a hole for a line of hovering behemoths charging in our direction. Wraith tanks.

I watched the Gunny study the new development. "Valvalaris?" he radioed with a wily smile. "Fire at will. Send some slugs downrange and pulverize those purple walruses."

The response we heard from the Warthog team was nearly devastating.

"Gunny, I'm so sorry. That was our last round."

Gunny Smith's smile instantly vanished, though I could still see him weighing the situation as he locked his gaze onto the distant threats. He relinquished the aim of his weapon and opened a private channel to the Company's Rocketeers. "Ammunition?" he said dispairingly over the comm., his voice signaling reluctance to hear the answer.

All eyes were fixed on the Gunny, waiting for his orders. All we saw from him was a slight nod, his face less than optimistic as the rocket jockeys in the distance reported in. He shook his head somberly, recognizing defeat. But then, instantly, his features morphed into determination...or spite. I couldn't tell.

I took it that this was it. We were underequipped. This was our last stand. Just like the Covenant approaching.

Maybe HQ sent reinforcements and they were on the way. Maybe they would take the same journey we did—through the forests, through the halls, and on to this forsaken North side. Finish what we started. Maybe uncover our remains and form guesses of what happened here.

Maybe we were the ones to make the sacrifice this time around.

The tanks' prows became shaded, now passing under the threshold of the giant awning far away. Our rocketeers loaded their last rounds and made what preparations they could in what was to be our closing moment. Random soldiers then scoured the grounds around them for fresh plasma grenades, anything.

I looked around, though not for advantages. I scanned the faces. I didn't know everything about what it was to be a Lima Company Marine. Not yet, but I knew that these were to be the fine folk that I would spend my last moments with. They could've been anyone, though: scientists, farmers, entrpeneuers, anyone. But they were Marines. They swore to protect every good thing they'd known about their home and this world. Not one of them ever broke that oath. I was proud to die here among them.

I thought about the family I left behind on another world: Father, Mother, Brother. I smiled as precious memories of them raced through my head. I was prepared.

A bright flash then emanated from beyond the Wraiths. Every occupant North of the outpost gazed that direction. Soon, the invading forces were engulfed in something otherworldly. A sudden spike of heat filled the bay, and a new sun appeared on the horizon. The white light blinded my eyes and filled my dreams.


	8. The Blast Heard 'Round the World

**The Blast Heard 'Round the World**

My eyes were useless in this heavenly fire—brighter than anything I'd ever witnessed. A flare of heat singed the hairs off my hands as I brought them up to cover my face. A howling sound came as a wind brushed me off my feet and into the concrete of the courtyard. It swept me back—back into the foundation of the loading platform where I remained fixed and pinned down, a tsunami of debris pelting my armor and helmet.

The heat was gone and the wind subsided. The light faded as I opened my eyes.

I was the first to rise. I looked side to side and gauged the remaining Marines of Lima Company and Sierra Company. Each of them appeared as lucid as I still felt, ready and able to finish the job. But a colossal column of smoke dominated the view past the courtyard awning, suggesting the battle had definitively ended. The metal canopy looked about on its last leg, sections of it drooping and sagging off its frame, glowing dull-amber at the Northernmost tip. Though we could only make out its incrediblely thick trunk, the pillar of smoke mushroomed high into the air beyond our point of vantage like an angry titan.

Wraiths and shades and bodies littered the bay. The fierce concussion of the nuclear blast brought our dead foes closer to us. Smoking, smoldering, decaying. Past gouts of smoke and fire, we could make out the twisted remains of anti-aircraft batteries. There was nothing more. It was all gone in a flash. We won.

I cried at the top of my lungs at the sight of it all. "Victory!"

Slowly, everyone else rose one by one and cheered into sun rays that pierced the miasma of the bay.

"Crap," cried Holmes, "she nuked the whole damned valley. Crazy-ass cyborg."

"Yeah," Haze agreed in a cocky tone, "we won alright, but the nuclear fallout probably took ten years off our lives."

He may very well have been right. We had just come face to face with a nuclear blast even though the nuke Amy set off could only be considered little more than a dirty bomb. Fury tac-nukes were very low yield, only useful in close proximities to their targets. Furthermore, our polyproylene suits were guaranteed to ward off harmful radioactive dust. Alpha particles, and the more intrusive beta particles. The only thing we weren't safe against were gamma rays. You needed at least two feet of Lead between you and the deadly waves to considered non-exposed. Luckily, the blast wasn't strong. And luckily, the Covenant had absorbed a great deal of it.

"Small price to pay for victory." the Gunny smiled. "Alright everyone, it's not over yet. Fire teams, form up and scour the area for any Covenant. No prisoners. Afterwards, make your way back inside and prepare your after-action reports. And be on the lookout for Amy. Let's hope she's still alive."

The Marine snipers were greatly thanked as they put down the stragglers, making the cleanup much less risky. Marines began to clear the blast doors. I watched them close with a hiss behind them. I stole a few more glances about the bay, then followed behind them with a few other Marines at my side. We were the last to clear.

After passing the access ramps, we found ourselves once again in climate-controlled paradise. The floors were deep-black obsidian—highly polished to give immense depth. It gave me the disconcerting sensation that I walked on a sea of black ice and might fall in with every step. Much further ahead was the impenetrable vault door separating us from the ravenous contingent of Covenant still occupying the corridors of the administrative offices. Overhead, exposed vent ducting and support girders twisted and curled to their terminus, exhibiting a very purposeful architecture.

To the left and right were gentle ramps leading into a series of freight lifts, presumably terminating at the mines. At the corners of the structure were chromed spiral staircases leading to offices and lounge rooms. The atmosphere of this sector was a seamless blend of function and luxury, I had only now noticed. The walls next to the blast door were taken up by bulletin boards containing the latest safety slogans or the month's summary of mishaps, as well as the breakdown of Covenant species—complete with anatomical silhouettes. Other walls by the lobby areas had illustrious, flowing murals depicting Zagosa's indigenous wildlife. It was an odd yet welcomed transition.

I had never known a mining camp to have anything more than basic provisions for carrying on a hard day's work. Apparently, Foreclay's investors were deep-pocketed.

After looking around, I knew we were in complete safety. I then looked around at some of the Marines. Most were lying on the ground; some stood and leaned up against walls; others took advantage of the plush couches in the lounge area. All of us looked the same. Of course we were all bloodied or dirtied or beaten on the outside. But we all felt alike—all on the same page, knowing what we'd been through. I looked a little closer at them, skimming the contours of their weary faces. I was desperate for an answer, to know what more purpose we had here. But I was met with only lines of regret, of sadness. Shock had settled in.

Then…suddenly it hit me.

"Where's Amy?"

"Hopefully, she'll come." said the Gunny, glancing sidelong at me. He turned away.

"You mean we're not—" I asked, stopping Gunny Smith short in his tracks. I almost didn't want to hear his answer. I knew what it was before he even spoke up. I finished my question as he turned around. "…we're not gonna go outside and look for her?"

"...A Spartan's greatest glory in life is not surviving. It's to fight and win. Failing that, they will sacrifice themselves so we can continue the mission. That's what she expects. If she's alive, she'll come back. If she's not, we have to go on without her. We stay put." He grimmaced through the blast doors, then hung his head for a brief moment and sauntered over to a couch. He crashed down into it, wondering, and perhaps, praying, _Maybe she had made it out of there._

I nodded; a kind of silent understanding drifted amongst Lima Company at the Gunny's words.

But Gunny Smith didn't relax long. "Someone get a link going back to HQ for a sit-rep. Tell them we need extraction for the wounded at the North side. And tell them to avoid all other sectors of this mining facility."

"What about the men still at med-lab?" asked Haze.

The Gunny thought it over a minute. "...Who will volunteer to go back to med-lab and get them out? We'll need at least ten people to go."

And a good deal more than ten brave souls instantly raised their hands, Haze included. They formed up and headed for the class-A vault door that adjoined Omega Wing with those horrid halls—which we had gone through so long ago. I would've spoken up and said something to my friends as they walked into fate's hands, but the words escaped me. Rather, I let them go. The words were of no use. We all knew what one another felt. Words were frivolous leftovers. The abscence of our greatest reassurance—a Spartan—compounded our strife. Something was telling me she was a survivor. She made the decision to disappear behind enemy lines. After all everyone in Lima Company did out there, it didn't seem natural to believe she was gone.

I did an inventory of my gear to take my mind off the notion. My coordination was off and my movements were shaky. I shouldn't have been doing this now. I should've been resting or eating something, maybe stopping by the lounge for a cool drink, but I couldn't bring myself to unwind after everything that had transpired. I suddenly felt unworthy after the impact of Amy's selfless deed hit home…and especially after the Gunny's discourse on Spartan glory.

A cold lump formed in my throat, almost painful, choking up my tears. My thoughts wandered to the leathernecks like Janine and Tabs and any other who died today. I took a deep breath, pushed myself up from the floor, and staggered over to the lounge at the third floor. I reached the staircase and pushed up step by agonizing step. As I reached the third floor balcony, a few Marines began passing out shotguns to the ten volunteers. They were headed into the worst close-quarter battle of their lives. I felt even more disgraced. I should've been in that group. It was _my _turn to give and sacrifice.

Would she ever return?

I brought down a few bottles of cold water for my comrades and I. We took our sips and savored the purity, though I think none of us whole-heartedly enjoyed any of it. It didn't seem right to rejoice.

"Radio is down, Sarge." Holmes announced. "Must've been EMP from the blast. Everyone's comm. sets are probably inoperative as well."

"_Don't be discouraged._" a booming voice said from above. The facility PA system sounded out loud and clear. The scientist we encountered when we first entered the Omega Wing. "_I just received a dispatch from Zagosa UNSCDF HQ . You definitely got their attention with the fission device you set off out there. Ahem, Pelican ships have just dropped a load of supplies into the valley and the necessary MEDEVAC ships are en route as we speak. They request your presence at the North side. ETA is five minutes._"

"Some good news, finally." the Gunny murmured. "Everyone, listen up! I want one fire team to stay behind and wait for the volunteers to get back from med-lab. Everyone else, round up the wounded and prepare them for immediate EVAC. We're going back outside."


	9. Reprieve and the Most Beautiful Thing

**Reprieve…and the Most Beautiful Thing**

The doors reopened. Intense heat attacked the nerves of my face, barely tolerable. The aftermath of the battle plain was revealed, though the smoke hadn't fully cleared.

Our next task was to get the wounded to their MEDEVAC airlifts as well as acquire whatever assets HQ parachute-dropped. We were here to stay for the foreseeable future. Someone high up had made the call, anticipated that more Covenant forces would renew their interest in this valley and in this mining facility. With all the heat and carnage and fatigue, I didn't have the mind to ponder why the Covenant would commit such an effort to this remote facility. There was nothing around for miles. This was just a mining outpost, on the fringes of the frontier. I started to think that the Covenant fleet at Zagosa was in dire need of resources or some kind of sustenance and that the facility had plenty of it to offer. Memories of the battle outside replayed in my head. The various boxes and pallets that shattered from weapons fire and explosion all contained gems and rare-earth metals.

I reluctantly followed my team down the loading platform once again and crashed into the blistered concrete below, concious to consult my Geiger Counter at regular intervals. The pain throbbing through my lower extremities from the jump-down barely registered, I was cognizant of only my surroundings now that Lima Company was in the thick of it once again. The sight in front blackened my spirits ever further. Covenant carcasses were still strewn about the flattened, charred landscape, corroded with radioactive fallout and fleshy decay. Non-living objects were still hot to the touch as heat wavered off their surfaces and distorted the air around them, and the smell of ozone and engine oil and burnt animal hide saturated the ambiance. My nostrils were on fire with the amalgamation of stenches. Strangely enough, a sliver of sunshine broke through the gloom and touched upon all our faces, revitalized me. I involuntarily smiled. We were still alive.

The enemy was vanquished and we could live on, the Spartan our savior. Aid was en route and we could rest—at least until new orders found us.

But a growing sense of closure came with the bountiful sunshine. A sense that Amy was indeed gone, never to return.

Though I wanted to, I couldn't cry anymore as if the tears had no use anymore. My resolve hardened. I was now a spear of retribution just like she always was. The torch was passed on to me now, to us now. I would carry on the fight. And that is the most beautiful thing I could ever know. This was how she would be remembered.

Lima Company trudges along the battle grounds.

As one.

Alone

"Everyone stop here and don your poly suits." the Gunny ordered. "Wear gloves too. I don't want anyone getting exposed more than we already have."

We complied. After the brief pause, we trekked toward the objective not far ahead. About halfway down the bay I pushed aside a small pile of jackal corpses, their skin still slowly melting away and pooling into a puddle of pure disgust underneath them. The eyes were vaporized, leaving nothing but dusty, blackened eye sockets. I looked right and left and took stock of the scene from Covenant perspective. Stillness filled the place. I looked beyond: the giant mushroom cloud had faltered and dissipated. Soot and ash rained down gently, a miniature apocalyptic winter. The warring sun was the only presence other than the surrounding gloom. A clash of titans.

We marched further into the blast radius, nowhere to go but straight-on. The air grew hotter and the rotten smells grew fainter. And soon, there were no smells at all. The only survivors here were bare metal, carbonized skeletons, and shattered armor. We approached what were their massive anti-aircraft batteries, twisted, mangled, and glowing red. Past these inanimate hulks was absolutely nothing, just a blackened turf, no trees or life to be seen. This was the spot where their commanders might've been. Nothing could've survived in the epicenter, a wonder that Lima Company further out made it relatively unscathed. Pinpoint devastation, Amy's attack was. No sooner had I realized that, I thought of Amy. She's dead. She's gone.

I sensed a hunch in my spine and I started to drag my feet as we pressed on further towards ground zero. For the first time, I didn't want to complete the mission. For the very first time in life, I wanted to give up.

I looked up again. Against the sun, faint, blocky shapes sat at the top of a looming hill, merely a furlong away. They were crates, presumably our air-dropped supplies. One shape stood out amongst others. It was narrower, not as tall. It moved.

"Sarge, you see that?" a troop called out.

"Copy that. Everyone, proceed with caution."

I could hardly see with the sun directly in my face and the sweat stinging my eyes. The fatigue from the battle and the blast had nearly drained the life from me, but I held the cautious pace onward with the rest of Lima Company.

I tried accessing my optics, but as expected they were fried from the nuke's EMP.

We slowly marched up the gentle hill, our boots crunching the small pebbles and shrapnel, a cool breeze kissing away the sweat rolling down my neck.

The figure once again moved ever so slightly, maybe making ready to fire?

The sun still pierced my vision so I threw up a hand over my brow. I could still barely see.

"Pennington," the Gunny called, "move up next to me. You're the luckiest SOB here. Maybe it'll rub off on me."

I pulled up next to him at the head of the formation. The Gunny always seemed to lighten a situation up and make me laugh on the inside, even in the most dire of circumstances. I focused in on the lone figure loitering near our supplies. I still couldn't see it all that well. A bullet train of thoughts raced in my head. Was it a lure? Is there another brigade just waiting on the other side? I wanted a fight. I wanted payback for our loss. I've become like her. And I couldn't be sure if it was for the better.

As we became nearly level with the top of the rise, the sun sank behind a tall crate...and I could see clearly now. The whole squad froze in awe and wonder. It was not an enemy or a grotesque savage that I might've feared. It was the most beautiful thing…

Pure gold.

A reflection of myself staring back at me.

Amy.


	10. 071

**071**

She was leaning casually up against a crate, hefting a rifle in one hand and bouncing the barrel up and down in the other. "So how'd I do, Marines?"

The Gunny paced closer to the Spartan and stopped short of her, barely out of arm's reach, his mouth slightly agape. "I don't…how did you…I don't understand."

She made to answer as a brisk wind pelted us all in the bright sunlight. Amy was as rock-solid as the crates in the ground, and I had the feeling she enjoyed seeing the Gunny flustered for once. "How did I escape? Simple. Just take a FURY, throw a Hail Mary...and run like Hell."

"You remote detonated."

Her solid visage of stoicism radiated towards Smith. "No. I set a timer and threw the pigskin. It had to go off the instant it landed. Wouldn't have worked otherwise."

"So, that's it?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"But you'd have to be at least one-thousand meters away to avoid the immediate effects of the blast!"

"I was already in the safe zone when I threw it."

The Gunny stole two steps closer. "You mean to tell me you got _behind_ the enemy formation, you threw tactical nuke more than a kilometer out, and managed not to sustain one scratch?"

"Yes."

"Good God, woman. I won't even ask how."

"Never mind all that. This was the easy part. Going hand-to-hand with a camouflaged gold Elite wasn't."

"You killed the Brigade Commander too?"

"I had to be sure it was dead. All in a day's work, Gunny."

"Well I'll be God-damned, Spartan." He approached her briskly and gave her a hug. She hesitated at first, then bowed her head and returned the embrace to her life-long commrade.

Rested beside here were UNSC crates. A supply drop. He glanced at them, then at her. She nodded, then the Gunny gaited closer and bent down to locate the release tabs.

One by one, we all paid thanks to Amy, patted her on the back or shook her hand. Then, all of Lima Company reflexively turned sights to the periphery, almost in sync with one another as the distant hum of pelicans caught our attention—just specs on the Eastern horizon. Exuded by the smiles on troops' faces, our morale rightly elated even more. Amy was alive. An entire invading brigade was destroyed. Zagosa Prime had respite, and the wounded of Lima Company could go home and rest.

It was the first time I had felt on top since my arrival to this beseiged world. And though we'd be losing some Marines, we gained some in their place. Sierra Company—what was left of them. They proved valuable and they did their part. Without their gauss-equipped warthog and its gunner, our mission surely would've been in shambles. Amy wasn't the only hero among us.

"Well, let's not dilly-dally." Gunny barked over the wail of approaching aircraft. "There's nuclear fallout everywhere. Just thank the almighty that the winds don't blow this way. Let's get to unpacking our shipment before he changes his mind!"

"Oh, about this shipment," Amy interrupted, "I took a sneak peek while you all were inside."

I looked to the crate next to her and confirmed that she had already been through it. Its side cover was unlatched and swinging freely on two sturdy hinges. Inside was a plethora of weaponry—the likes of which I had never seen. "Prototypes?"

"Yes," she replied to me, "it looks like Command has seen fit to upgrade our armaments. This is the new BR-55 Battle Rifle, Marines."

She twirled her rifle with grace and handed it to Gunny Smith, butt first. He cordially accepted it with two hands and a grin, inspecting its attributes. He retracted the bolt and examined its action.

"Pretty smooth. I love me a well-oiled killing machine."

He then peered down the chamber, positioning the dark tube in-line with the light of day. "Heavily-rifled, I see. The wall thickness of the firing chamber seems higher than an MA5B, and somehow it's lighter weight." He let go of the rifle with one hand and held it with only his right, simply by the buttstock such that the tip of the barrel pointed straight in the air. He then let the muzzle shroud slowly plummet back into his left hand, letting it bounce naturally. "Good balance." he smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Can't wait to try one, but with no Covvie around anymore, Amy, it's gonna be a bit difficult."

A serenade of laughter followed from the Marines.

He finished his inspection, looking back up to Amy's pale visor.

"That makes two of us." she returned.

"In the meantime," Gunny said, "We'll let the fine men and women of Lima Company guess what this new rifle's capable of."

"Any heavy weapons?" A Marine from Sierra Company spoke up. The voice was unfamiliar to us all, thusly we all turned toward it for our own inspection.

"What's your name?" asked the Gunny.

"Private Jon Struger, sir. At your service."

"You have a bias towards heavy weapons, Private Struger?" the Gunny asked in a serious tone. A smile then crept up on the Gunny's face, barely noticeable in the intensity of the sunlight.

"Actually, sir, yes. You may've noticed I'm the heavy weapons expert. I was the one bulldozing the Covvie with the gauss turret!" he laughed heartily.

All eyes reverted back toward Gunny Smith. I could tell he didn't require anymore small talk. It seemed he instantly took a liking to this Sierra Company Private. He wasted no time.

"Oh-seven-one," the Gunny prompted, "see if there's any high-explosive weaponry for this young buck. I think we'll fare better with him using it. Everyone else, get this new gear disassembled and back into the facility. And get those wounded aboard the air lifts when they arrive. I'm going inside for a drink. Move like you gotta purpose!"

Gunny Smith strolled back downhill towards the bay with a new bounce in his step and soon disappeared behind smoke and ash, passing through a landscape of decaying carnage. I thought I heard him whistling once he passed beyond the threshold of the bay.

Amy and a few Marines began to diseminate weapons and munitions to all personnel remaining, and Struger got his array of heavy arms. A mix of Lima Company and Sierra Company Marines were rewarded with the latest standard issue military hardware, anxious to put them through their paces if the opportunity ever presented itself—unlikely.

Suddenly, the roar of Pelican engines crescendoed as the VTOLs circled the LZ and initiated their descent. Our mindset flipped a switch from procurement to extraction, focusing on the Marines in need of MEDEVAC. During the fiasco of rushing the injured onto the ships, I tried my best to get a med tech to look at Holmes' arm. It was possibly the only chance he had at decent care since our own medics were MIA back in the cursed corridors of the outpost. These techs were apparently too busy either loading the wounded or prepping the aircraft for the return journey. Holmes would have to hold out a little longer with his hastily bandaged forearm. I did however manage to "procure" some biofoam from one of the Pelican's airborne medicinal stock while no one was looking.

As soon as the birds were spun up, I flushed out the old fluid in his arm, injected some fresh biofoam and changed out the dressing. A pat on the back and he was good to go. I got back to helping the team with the last of the supplies.

As we trekked back through the scorched battle plain, many of us were anxious to speak with Amy along the way, hopefully hear of a lone voyage into the heart of Covenant territory. For the moment, I hung back in content, suspecting I'd be graced with such a heroic tale sooner or later. Now, I simply enjoyed the sun on my face. The aftermath of the wreckage surrounding us didn't seem to faze me, nor did the horrific scene of the Brigade's demise. A company of Marines and one Spartan trudged along in relative peace and quiet, passing under the mangled awning overhead, through the spoiled bay, up the loading dock, and finally into total safety. The door closed behind us along with another chapter of my life.

I paid no more mind to my own thoughts. I yearned for more rest. Good laughs would surely ensue once I was whole again. Somewhere in my distant hopes was the word for Lima Company to pack up and go home. I looked ahead to Amy, proudly marching us beyond last ramps and into the Omega Wing. The back of her armor glistened in the waning light.


	11. Old Faces, New Faces

**Old Faces, New Faces**

The spacious interior of the Omega Wing was a welcomed sight once again. It was starting to feel like home, though it seemed to be an eternal struggle to be free of all the distractions the main lobby had to offer. If there was a single, best fact I could take away from Basic Training, it was that you should never allow yourself even a moment of complacency.

But I looked around, looked at various faces of Lima Company. It wasn't hard to relax inside the Omega Wing.

With the high vaulted ceilings, the rock-solid walls, climate controlled air, friends and commrades milling about, and the amenities of a four star's private retreat, we felt safe here, maybe too safe. Was there such a thing? With humanity's enemy as mighty as they were, I couldn't deny it. Nevertheless, Marines congregated and shared recent war stories, told the jokes, broke the ice with unfamiliar faces. Life had flipped a switch. Everything that we worked so hard for could be enjoyed. We readily embraced it, no doubt, but to me it felt inconsistent. Inconsistent to how we were trained. Inconsistent to how we should've felt. Inconsistent in the mind of the enemy.

The Covenant _never _turn the other cheek. To have denied a Covenant brigade led by a zealot who campaigned this world for months was unheard of. Once they reared their might towards the outpost, they were destroyed in a matter of hours. I knew this kind of luck wouldn't hold even while we laughed and reveled in total safety. A burning in my stomach told me our triumph could not last much longer. This dreary chain of logic pulled my mind to the side even as I smiled and sporadically joined in the fun. Amy was a little distant too. I could see her keeping a steady buffer at the far end of the wing. But wasn't she always distant? Was I imagining things again?

A gut feeling told me she was thinking the same as me. She wasn't just taking a side seat or spectating as usual; she was formulating a strategy even as Gunny Smith celebrated. She's contemplating, calculating. She's dead-set on winning.

Her visor was locked onto something, the entire soiree, maybe. Taking it all in. She didn't notice me staring her way. The Spartan's mind was working multiple tasks, I could sense it. Her armored figure was imposing, tensed and ready for action. But there was none at present. There was nothing Lima Company could do.

I looked around again: the room was still alive with conversation, Marines reenacting pieces of the battle. Some kept to themselves in sorrow—turning away an empathetic other—still picturing something horrid in their memories. Too many friends were lost today. Some were already on their way home with defeat on their mind. Eventually, the grief-stricken Marines shook it off one by one and took part in the festivities. There might be a better time and place to grieve properly. Maybe I had already grieved enough. Maybe a little celebration was needed after all.

Haze stood near a small crowd, nodding as the Gunny described our harrowing journey into the Omega Wing to a few Sierra Company Marines. Holmes tried to pay full attention but was occupied with an itch near his wound. Gunny Smith's hand movements were swift and steady as he regurgitated every detail of that close-quarter stampede we fought through just before our arrival at the Northside battle. They were smiling and laughing heartily at the tale. The ambiance was a total buzz from the amalgamation of noise inside the Omega Wing, and it was all a welcomed blur of sounds, rather soothing to me.

Amy had strolled off since my in-depth observation of things, to where I didn't know. She had left my sights and therefore my thoughts. I decided to recuperate as others had already begun when something about Holmes caught my attention. I walked over to where he stood, currently next to the Gunny and his captive audience. He looked rather somber, out of the moment with his gaze frozen to the deck.

"Holmes, you thirsty? I was going to get some water."

His reply was instant. "I'll go with you." he said.

He collected his rifle and rucksack off the floor and dragged them both by the straps a short distance to the nearest break room.

"Our morale is lookin' pretty good." I remarked with a glance over my shoulder.

"Thanks to Amy." he said.

"Got some new people in the ranks too."

"Yeah, that Private Struger seems like a real go-getter. His Gauss Hog was pretty nasty out there. Compelling accuracy. I gotta hand it to 'em, he talks the talk and walks the walk."

I looked rearward again as we walked. Though there were significantly more UNSC personnel here than before, there were also an increased number of Foreclay scientists roaming around the wing. I had only now noticed it. They walked in bee lines straight to their tasks—whatever they may be, zipping around the complex very briskly. They stopped at specific offices off the main square only to be on the move seconds later.

"Looks like their business picked up a little." I said, pointing around. "I wonder if it has anything to do with us eliminating the Covvie brigade. Was it always this hectic inside?"

"Can't be sure," Holmes furrowed his brow, "but I want to say it was _less _busy before."

I even saw old Hal Overton milling around one of the break rooms across the way. I hadn't seen the forklift driver since we first arrived at the Foreclay outpost, a lifetime ago.

"There's that forklift driver from the South side."

"Yeah," Holmes said, "it is."

"I just realized...we'd be dead if it wasn't for him."

"True. Very true."

"And the brigade would still be at the North side, maybe busting the walls down by now."

"Eh...I doubt they could do that."

"Yeah," I relented, "you're probably right. But Sierra Company looked like they were in trouble out there; it's a good thing we made it to the docks when we did. All thanks to that little barricade he set up for us."

"Yep, just another life-saver around here."

"I wonder how the old man is holding up."

We both looked to Hal. He was now at a break room we were slowly making our way towards. I thought our eyes met for an instant so I nodded to him, but he turned away. Even if Hal did notice me, he was apparently too busy for chit-chat. Even the non-verbal sort. He soon entered one of the freight elevators with a cold soft drink in hand. He was also gainfully employed judging by the tempo of his step. He descended before we entered the break room.

Everything seemed to be going quite well, then I remembered Lima Company troops were still MIA back in Med-Lab. And another ten bodies had been sent to rescue them. I tried not to dwell on it. All we could do was sit and wait. Hopefully, the ten-man shotgun corral would wipe the floor clean with the remaining Covenant or at least strike fear into them. With that, Holmes and I stepped into the break room. I went straight for the fridge and grabbed a soda.

I popped the top back, took a swig, and swished it around with a cold smack of my lips. "Ahhh, haven't had one of these things in forever."

"Pretty good, eh? Hard-earned treat today."

"I guess you never really appreciate the little things until you suffer a bit." I stood at ease, leaning against a wall. My breath started to slow and I was finally relaxed. Marines were casually sharing their stories outside. Most of them were either sitting and cleaning their weapons or standing and listening idly to conversation. But the most noticeable movement taking place was those scientists again. It was as if nothing else could exist but their next task.

"Holmes, you ever wonder what it is the Foreclay scientists are into out here?"

"Haven't had much chance to, but now that you mention it—"

"I mean...Look at them. It's like they needed us here for years, like only now are they able to accomplish any work."

Holmes glanced at me and shrugged, taking a slow gulp of cool water. "Well, whatever it is they needed to do, it definitely required a fortress to do it in."

"Yeah. And a massive loading bay."

"Shakespeare, it's a mining facility."

"An EMP-hardened one?"

"Hmm."

"And blast-grade doors? I haven't got the slightest idea why the mines would need all that."

"Seems like we're just as interested in this place as the Covenant are."

"It would help to know, alleviate a little of my uncertainty. Seems to be getting the better of me lately."

"Maybe you should try talking to one of them."

"It's not much reward to hunt one of those lab coats down. Any time I approached any of them, they blew right by me as if I was invisible."

Holmes took another slow drink of water as he looked out of the break room doorway, to the multi-leveled office section of the Omega Wing. "Well, it seems they're _very _occupied at the moment."

I was about to mumble something spiteful as one of the scientists brushed past the break room, but an outburst struck a discord in the harmony.

"They're back! The Marines are back from Med-Lab! Open the door!"

The scientist that ignored us suddenly rushed over to the class-A vault door, his white lab coat flapping as he breezed by.

We stepped out of the room and hung just outside the door, looking onward.

An instant later, the scientist stopped short of the vault and entered in the appropriate combination. Marines made room for him, then gathered around with weapons drawn towards to the entryway. The seal broke with a hiss and the heavy door swung inwards into the wing. Fourteen Marines piled in the lobby like a stampede.

They were all here; none of them perished—a miracle. And as far as I could tell, no one was injured. A cheer echoed through the spacious interior. Amy moved like lightning and shoved the door closed, much to the lone scientist's content. And as soon as it was secured, every other scientist went back to their affairs—uncanny how they were all on the same page.

"They're like little worker bees." I said, my attention strangely drawn to them rather than the returning Marines.

"Quite industrious." Holmes quipped.

I looked back towards the fourteen that had just made it through. The crowds gathered and celebrated their return.

"Let's walk over there, Holmes."

We moved as one towards the scene.

As we neared, the Gunny cleared an area just off the crowd and quickly attained everyone's attention with mere presence.

"Lima Company," he said, casting a rigid smile, "You've done very well today. You've vested so much in this mission. And together we have lost much. But we couldn't possibly have gained any more than we have right now." A brief uproar of cheer resounded through the wing before he continued. "It feels good to have the rest of you back and safe. We've won this battle, but let's remember there's still a war. And part of it is holed up beyond this little door." The Gunny wrapped a knuckle against it. "This place is nicely dug in, but remember who your enemy is. They are not as ready or willing to take part in festivities as you are. They're thinking of ways, right now, to bust in here and start taking lives...and who knows what else that's in here.

"So, stay sharp. Have your fun, but take a little time out here and there to do what you can in preparing. Glad to have you all back. Carry on."

"Sir," I said, "we've got some motion-activated turrets on tripods from the drop-shipment. We could have them set up outside that door in minutes."

"Excellent, Private. Get whoever you need to make it happen."

I glanced at Holmes next to me. He nodded.

We immediately went to work. All the while, stories were told and laughs were had by many.

I listened in to one particular story as I assembled a turret and configured its autotrack programming parameters. Four Marines from Lima Company described to us a horror story. Hunkered down in Med-Lab, insanely lucky they weren't found by the Covenant war party—_still _roaming the hallways. Scratching noises in the walls, distant screams and wails, and the sounds of ravenous brawls they had to deal with for hours on end while we fought at the North side. They could do nothing but listen and maintain hope that Lima Company hadn't forgotten them, and that we were still alive to come back for them.

Once Holmes and I finished with two gun emplacements outside the small vault door, I moseyed back inside once it was sealed and checked the ten volunteers to see if they had engaged the Covenant in there. None of them were wearing any of the enemy's blood on their uniforms. Either the Covenant war party was somewhere off the blueprints, or they in fact pulled out. Maybe they knew their allies to the North were KIA.

I walked over to the returning Marines and offered what help and hospitality I could. One responded to my offer.

"Hey, I'll take some water if you have it."

"Got plenty. Drink up."

"I'm Private Hill." he said. "You can call me Lawrence if you want. That's what everyone else calls me."

"You're from Sierra Company?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"My name is Private Pennington. Just call me Shakespeare. You'll understand soon.

"Okay, fair enough. Glad you heard Command's relay of our distress call. Without Lima, we'd be done for."

"Wait…you're just getting back from the Med-Lab?"

"Yeah, I was one of the volunteers."

"Wow. That's awfully nice of you to go out of your way like that for Lima, Lawrence. Truth be told, I'm a little shocked."

"Aw, no worries. I like to help whenever I can."

As he bent down to grab water I'd set down for him, I saw the artwork on his helmet. Painted on the side was a skull and cross bone image with two bone-colored pistols pointed squarely at me. Under the art, a caption read, 'Mr. Nice Guy'. I found a dry humor in it, just as Lawrence probably did when he first drew it on there.

I took a seat on a curved, stone ledge that encompasssed a small garden of wheat grass. I felt relaxed again, simply by sitting. As he drank the fresh water, I couldn't help but see blurs of white in my periphery. The lab coats again. I turned my head toward the center of the lobby and saw three or four of them walking very briskly to an elevator, speedier than times before.

"So what do you make of this place, Lawrence?" I asked.

He swallowed and set the bottle down, studying my gaze. "If you ask me," he said quietly, "it looks like the Foreclay Outpost folks dug up something important."

"I was beginning to think the same thing myself."

Of course, that was a lie. I had thought this for quite a while now.

"Why else would the Covenant send such an army to this place?" he added.

"I've wondered the same thing myself. Hey, would you like to check out some new weapons we just received?"

His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Hell yeah!"

He jostled around, waiting for me to lead the way to this new weaponry, but I just handed him my new BR-55 Battle Rifle. "Behold, the brand-spankin' new, BR-55 Battle Rifle." I announced opulently.

"Whoa. This is great! Are we the first to get this?"

"I think so." I replied.

"I think I'm gonna like this better than the MA5B!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Haze said butting and elbowing his way over to us. "What's this I hear about this rifle being better than the MA5B? _Nothing's_ better than the MA5B. Let me see this thing." He snatched it from Lawrence and took one quick look at it before handing it back. "Ha! Half of this damned thing is plastic! What the hell are you gonna do with sissy shit like that?"

"Uhhhh…it's lighter so you don't have to train as hard to lug it around. And I see a fire-rate selector switch here, which just so happens to have a burst mode. The barrel is longer, the magazine isn't as tall, and there's a scope. This means you're gonna put more rounds downrange, faster and closer to the mark than with an MA5B. _That's_ what." Hill countered.

Haze took a longer look at it this time. Upon a more reasonable inspection, I took it that Haze noted the longer barrel, the higher caliber rounds, as well as tighter mechanical tolerances and lighter weight. "Eh, maybe. We'll see about that when the next battle comes. Just remember, the MA5B has been around since our training days. There's no reason to scrap it now."

"Oh, I'm not saying it's seen the end of service." Lawrence said. "It's still a fine weapon and I'd go to war with it any day of the week. I'm just saying that the Battle Rifle is easier to shoulder and more accurate."

"Oh yeah?" Haze said with a challenge.

"Yeah. Fifty _credits_ says yeah."

"Fine." Haze said, fishing his pockets for money. ""I'm Expert Marksman with the MA5B. I can shoot the dots off a pair of dice at a hundred yards out. I'll take that bet and we'll see." He reached for my hand and slapped his credits into my palm.

"I guess I'm the middle man." I said dryly.

"Sure will." Lawrence said to Haze. He placed his wager into my hand as well.

Haze looked at me and then back to Lawrence with a glare, then walked off.

"That's the first time I've ever seen anyone get a rise out of Haze." I said. "You might be the new wise guy, Lawrence."

"Me?" he said quizzically. "Nah, I'm the Nice Guy...look." He pointed to the artwork on his helmet.

"Yeah, I figured." I couldn't help but snicker. "If you want to clean up, there's a bathroom right over by the break room. Help yourself."

"Thanks." he answered over his shoulder as he walked off.

After everyone was situated and well-equipped with their weapons of choice, the Gunny gathered everyone around for a briefing, Amy standing stoically at his side at Parade Rest.

"Listen up, team. Apparently, the Covenant in the halls are on the run. We're going to use this opportunity to take back some real estate and give these scientists a chance to collect some things back there. This plan will involve two teams. First team will stay put here in Omega and hold the entrance open and provide egress cover. The second team will file into the halls. They will systematically plug up the vents with sheets of titanium-A battle plate. Guards with CQB weaponry will provide spherical coverage for the welders at work. The team will go by the numbers—one vent at a time—one hall at a time until we have a comfortable buffer between us and them. I've selected four team leaders to take charge of second squad. You'll each receive copies of the facility blueprints we obtained from Admin. Highlighted, are the vents you need to secure. The goal is to seal forty vents in thirty minutes. Once we have attained this, second team will fall back and first team will fall in and start escorting a few civvies to their places of business. Our objective then, is to be as quick as possible in getting them to their desired locations and then getting the hell out and back to Omega. Safety first. We don't advance if a sector isn't _completely _secure. Any questions? Then get with your team leaders and prepare to kick some ass once again."

I thought the Gunny's preemptive strike was a sound idea. We needed to be decisive. We needed to keep whatever Covenant there was from getting clever and thinking they had the upper hand. Though they were isolated in the corridors, there was still the possibility they could pull off something that would undermine our efforts. Indeed, a forceful infiltration was in order. We needed to push them around and keep their spirits low, or hopefully kill them in the process of accomplishing our new directive. The civilians among us apparently needed something from that area.

I was in team two. I was going in first.

I used a few moments to check my gear: survival knife, med kit, flashlight, NVGs, grenades, my new rifle. I held the BR-55 in front of me. I rarely felt comfortable using a weapon I barely knew. If there was action ahead, I had zero trigger time in this rifle. I had no idea what to expect. It would be a learning experience upon the first shot I took. But something about the new gun gave me reassurance. The buttstock was incredibly egronomic to my grip, yet hard and dense, able to prosecute fierce combat either at distance or up close and personal. My forefinger rested gently against the trigger guard and seemed to easily slip into trigger well if the need arised. I pointed it downrange and appreciated the light weight as I stepped into the hall, the door now behind me.

I wondered who would win the bet—Haze or Lawrence. It wouldn't matter much. We were all encouraged to rely heavily on our shotguns for the close quarters of the hallways, which made definite sense. I slung the BR-55 over my shoulder and retrieved my shotgun, loaded with buckshot. The light of the Omega Wing was slowly dimming. A draft of air brushed past me, and Amy appeared in front of me. She intended to take the point of the formation.

Suddenly, the new objective seemed easily obtained.


	12. Interception

**Interception**

I pulled up right behind Amy, pointing my shotgun ill-manneredly down the length of the corridor.

I wouldn't require much aim to inflict damange. I wanted the honor of giving her cover while she deactivated the gun emplacement. As she switched off the servo motors and the motion detectors, I switched on my brand new NVGs. I quietly uttered my thanks to Command for endowing us with a supply run. We desparately needed ammunition after our skirmish at the docks. But the darkness of the corridor reminded me these new provisions were a bitter-sweet reward. _Surely_ they were much-needed, but it brought about another feeling of loneliness. If Command sent us all these supplies, it probably meant it was the only help we'd get. Reinforcements weren't coming.

Once she finished with the autoturret, we crept down the first passage—just a simple, straight stretch with no detours. At the end was a single turn to the left at ninety degrees. I looked behind me at the two Marines pushing a dolly laden with sheets of titanium-A battle plate and a few arc welders, and further—the other teams that would soon part ways with us and pursue their own sub-objectives. The dollys' casters made too much noise as they transitioned over sections of the floor. It squandered what stealth we had. Nonetheless, we had our orders. The scientists needed back into this place now that the bigger threat was gone.

Amy and I approached the first junction. We both proceeded ahead of the team to make sure the next hall was all clear.

She slowly peaked around the corner and gave an encouraging wave to forge ahead. I stepped around the elbow and into the new hallway—a ghostly-green fuzz through my optics. The faint outlines of ceiling tiles, office doors at regular intervals, and the occasional drinking fountain recessed into an alcove all played tricks on me if I didn't will some focus. I remembered to compensate for hyper-vigilance and not make any unnecessary moves. The main concern were the vents. They were all still open, their grate covers scattered about the ground. Small holes littered the walls where Lima Company had unloaded shredder rounds into the suspected enemy dwellings.

Plasma weaponry had discharged here as well, burning away the styrocrete veil and scoring the steel framework underneath. Another battle had happened here. I didn't recall any Covenant energy weapons discharge during the flight to Omega Wing; luckily for us, the uglies were mostly stuck in the vents by the time we ran through. Furthermore, the rescue team that went on the extraction mission to Med-Lab didn't see any action as well. A mutiny within the Covenant brigade's ranks? It was highly probable that only Grunts and other small species of the Covenant remained here, no real leadership elements to guide them. It was the only thing logical I could come up with. I relished the suspicion that the Covenant infestation plaguing our halls had taken care of itself, but there was no blood or bodies—Human _or_ Covenant.

We pressed on. I consulted my electronic copy of the blueprints and directed welding specialists as needed. Marines took up covering positions for the them, mostly at the vents themselves, their shotgun barrels resting inside the duct openings. If the Covenant scrambled back this way and showed their ugly faces, they'd surely regret it. They'd get blown off. I took the point with Amy and held my shotgun steadily downrange into the unknown, the darkness ahead begging to swallow the barrel.

I focused as far as I could through the void—nothing. And Amy was calm as ever. Apparently there was no motion on her sensors. Time was progressing in our favor. Two vents sealed up with good old titanium-A.

We proceeded further down this black hall.

A minute more of walking slowly, tactically, and another pair of open vents needed tending to. The sputtering of the welders helped. Light flickered and danced right with the shadows down the corridor. I tried to keep cool. It wasn't easy knowing we were now walking boldly into the enemy's territory; any instant could be trouble all over again. Welding torches hissed and crackled overtly without a care. It seemed as if our very presence called the enemy out. I gripped the barrel and butt stock tighter, ready to rack the shotgun at a moment's notice, and rack it again and again. The sweat slid between the weapon and my palms and oozed between my fingers.

I glimpsed behind me at the progress the welders were making. As much exhilaration as this mission was, I wanted it over soon. I panned away from the Marines welding on the vent covers. The light from the arc was too bright, saturating my optics with quantizing noise, which I had to be careful about. I had to keep a sharp eye. One slip up could mean an enemy going unsighted. I attenuated the light input of the photocells to counteract the intense glare bouncing off walls. I boosted counter-inductive electronics to lessen the RFI pixelizing my display. The welders were noisy in more wavelengths than just one.

The fiesta of light instantly stopped. Another two vents completed. I could move from this unnerving position.

Amy resumed. We proceeded around another elbow and approached a T-junction rather abruptly—two halls stemming left and right. I remembered this place. We had ran full speed through it soon after all the lights in the facility went out. I motioned for additional Marines to cover one hall while Amy and I covered the other.

Another couple of minutes and two more vents were sealed. We wasted no time moving on to the next set of vents, though, carefully traversing the darkness. We slowly crept around yet another elbow. Amy froze in her steps. She threw up a swift fist high in the air. A red diamond flashed in my HUD. _Stop_.

There was not a sound.

We kept absolutely quiet and still until she gave the order to do otherwise. I even caught myself holding my breath, my wind all bunched up at the bottom of my lungs. I let it out slowly and breathed back in just as deliberately. I gazed downrange, deep into the hall. I saw nothing—absolutely nothing. So what was she spooked about?

I pinged her once with amber. _Status?_

A quick two-pulse of amber came back. _Wait._

I flashed back a quick green. _Copy that._

I waited. And I didn't like just waiting. I felt too vulnerable. But I remembered this was a Spartan next to me. She already saved us. She brought us through Hell and back, so I placed all my faith in her, foregoing my worry. I waited.

She knelt…odd.

She then opened a low-emission comm. channel to all of us. "Check your RAD counters. See that?"

I switched my HUD to a spectrum analyzer program. Instead of a numerical data chart, I configured a graphical user interface. Instantly, masking my entire HUD, was a brilliant white. Pure radiation of immense magnitude somewhere in the terahertz range, maybe IR. The amplitude readings were cast way above my electronics' comprehension. A nuke? A radioactive leak from below, possibly? I couldn't hazard a guess for this. What had Amy found?

It was common knowledge that the Covenant never use nuclear weapons, I knew that for a fact. And I was pretty sure from my last look at the blueprints that this sector of the complex had no nuclear reactor or any anomalous materials storage. What common sense I had told me that admin offices usually lacked the proper protective equipment to shield against radioactive materials. Something strange was going on, and we _had _to investigate.

We now had two objectives: seal up the vents; find out what was causing this incalculable energy spike.

She stood back up. My screen went nearly quiet. Over half the radiation disappeared from my view.

White lines of flux curled around her outlines and swirled back into view. The energy field that her own shields emitted apparently displaced some of the incoming radiation. _That's_ why she knelt. _Interesting_.

I snapped back into the game. There was a new task. Amy chose me and two others to escort her ahead while the remaining Marines gave cover for the welders.

We inched forward, relying heavily on Amy's built-in motion detector in the dark.

I switched back to the Terahertz range of my optics to see the emission source again. The glow was now extremely bright. We were close—just a few paces and through the office door to my right. We each took our positions and brought up on either side of the door, with Amy prepared to bust it down right off the hinges. We surrounded the entry, ready to clear it and neutralize any hostiles on her signal.

Amy slid a fiber optic probe underneath the door sill, flexed it around a little, and patched it into her suit. She tilted her head in vexation, lied still, then momentarily got up. She immediately retracted the probe, stowing it away in a compartment of her MJOLNIR armor. She turned to me and gave a thumbs up and casually opened the door with a twist of the knob.

It was a very small office room—about ten by ten. Some storage closet. There was no desk or computer terminal or filing cabinet. It was just an empty room aside from a Covenant device that occupied its center.

Some sort of striated, redish-purple rectangle, standing on its long end. Shooting upwards from it was an intense ruby-red beam—almost painful to look at. I set my optics to full polarization. Amy's automatically did so. The image I saw earlier nearly burnt out the HUD's receivers. Now we were inside the room. I couldn't even imagine what I would see if I switched back to the spec-an program.

A hole in the ceiling overhead was blasted away by some high-impact plasma discharge. The Covenant apparently wanted that obstacle gone so this apparatus could broadcast its energy straight up into the sky. Only one kind of weapon was compact enough and powerful enough to clear ceiling away. A Hunter's fuel rod gun. I really wanted to leave now. None of us, even Amy, would want to be stuck in the halls with a Hunter lurking about.

I wanted to steal just one more minute to scope out the box. Shallow rays of light bent into the room through the oculus above, lighting the contraption well. I tapped a knuckle on its surface and it clanged with a hollow metallic sound, as if nothing were inside it. Common sense told me this was some kind of long-haul communications link. Something this powerful could probably traverse half a galaxy. It made me nervous.

"I'm thinking 'you know who' is on the other end of this thing." Lawrence said.

I nodded.

We lingered too long. I could feel it. Too much time went by. I motioned for myself and the other two Marines with me to step outside and cover the hall while Amy scrutinized the high-powered gadget. I certainly didn't want that Hunter showing up unexpected, lest someone among us had a death wish.

Only a moment later, Amy emerged from the room holding a fist-sized stone in hand. I didn't bother to ask.

She motioned for us to leave and regroup with the welders. A quick glance back into the room and there was no light emanating from the Covenant equipment anymore. Good, she disabled it.

We backtracked to the team. A few turns and we caught up with them. The welders made exceptional progress. Through their heavily-tinted masks, they could easily sense our anxiety. The security and comfort of Omega Wing was on all our minds.

To my utmost surprise, the rest of the mission went unscathed. We sealed up the last of our target vents and were double-timing it back to the vault door of Omega Wing, a light at the end of a tunnel.

We cleared the threshold and a weight lifted off my shoulders at the sight of Marines and scientists, and Gunnery Sergeant Smith standing firm with a watchful eye. I took a deep breath and looked around, praying our luck would hold out for the next team escorting the scientists inward. First team was already passing us by and disappearing into the forever darkness. Camouflage uniforms and white lab coats scurried away. God speed to them all.


	13. The Bearer of Exceptionally Grave News

**The Bearer of Exceptionally Grave News**

I looked around the Omega Wing and took stock at my new surroundings—welcomed surroundings. Omega Wing had become a second home to me, to all of us. The smooth lines and vivid colors of the wall murals took my mind off the combat. The air was clean and crisp. And the deep black floor of the main square was calmer than stillness, however awkward it felt to traverse its surface. More than just a safe refuge, it seemed to grow on me like a fondness of childhood years.

But I couldn't have my head in the clouds forever. A sense of urgency tugged. There was still a mission. I had to see it through.

I tried not to get lost in the peaceful surroundings. I looked at some of the Marines staying behind. A flux of emotions were registered on their features. Worry, anxiety, hope, determination…all, so much to deal with. But I could never tell what Amy was truly thinking. There was a constant barrier between us, a wall of shielding buffering the very air amid us and the gold sheen of her faceplate—stripping her eyes from my sights.

I approached her. "Hey, are you alright?"

She tilted her head towards mine…and paused. She was looking right through me with her steely gaze, reading me like an open book. She threw up a commiserate hand and looked away. The gesture signaled something o me. I should be the one who needed something, not her. "I'll be fine." she said.

Whatever it was that I could offer, she didn't want any of it.

The scientists roaming the outskirts were just as evasive. There was no way to get through to them. I was stuck in a twilight zone, a chaotic medium of extraordinary events. It felt so wrong not to investigate things further, but where to start? There was no help to be found in anyone or anything.

I took a seat, feeling light-headed. I had to rest and clear my mind.

I caught Lawrence out of the corner of my eye. He came over to me.

"You alright? You look a little winded."

I took a couple of breaths. "I just have to sit and be a little for a while. I'm fine."

"Good, good." He said. "Catch your breath and rest a bit. You did your part. Let first team do their thing and then try getting back on your feet, buddy." He glanced over to the massive green figure standing motionless. "Don't worry about that Spartan, either."

After a few moments, I felt better. I drank some water, stood up and stretched. Amy moved. She walked to the far side of the main lobby and up one of the spiral staircases in the corner. "Where's she going?" I asked.

"Beats me." Struger said, preoccupied with inventorying his supplies.

Another oddity just occurred to me. "You know she never sits?" I said.

"What do you mean?" Haze asked.

"She never once sat down. She always stands. This entire time in Omega Wing, she never once rested."

"Yeah," Haze replied, tilting his head as he watched her, "the only time I remembered her sitting is during the pelican ride over here."

"...And that was a long time ago." Holmes added.

"My God, how does she do it?" I asked. "What the hell is she made of?"

I stood up, trying to get a better view of her, but she soon faded from sight at the far end of the wing. My mind was starting to spiral again. I sat back down. Something definitely wasn't right. More frustrating, I couldn't put a finger on it. I couldn't figure out just what it was, like an itch you just can't seem to scratch.

I either needed rest or I needed something to do. I should've been in the halls with first team, getting the mission done. Maybe that's what I needed—for this whole thing to be over, to see it done. But now, what could I do? How could I do it? I couldn't bring myself to relax. I wanted to hit something…_hard_. There was Lawrence again, his keen eyes on me.

"Pennington, what's up, man? Why do you look like you're about to clobber somebody?"

I looked down and I hadn't even realized my fists were clenched. "What the hell?" I said absentmindedly. I didn't want that. I stared at my hands in disbelief. "What's going on? Am I gonna get relieved of duty?"

I took a deep breath.

"Of course not." He said, taking his helmet off. He took a seat beside me. "You're just stressed."

"You're right." I said. "I can still think. I'm still in control."

"Sometimes, your body has a weird way of telling you that you need your rest." Struger said, seating himself across from me. "After all, we did just come back from a pretty nerve-wracking journey through the halls..._again_. And we spent the last day without any sleep, fighting and running and teasing our bodies with the notion of real rest the whole time."

"You guys feel the same, too?"

"Believe me, Blake, we all do. The instant Gunny gives the word to rack out, I'm done."

"You're right." I said, flexing tension out of my arms. "It's just shock."

I never thought I would experience true shock. But I was _told_ I did, back when I almost got blown to bits by the Covenant land mine in the forest. It was so long ago, when we first started this mission. It was when we landed into this valley and high-tailed it into the Foreclay Outpost. It was only _one_ day ago. "Where does the time go?"

"Yeah." said Holmes.

But the shock from the mine blew right over me. I was unconscious for most of it—a full saturation of shock. The body overloads…and shuts down. This was more like a soft reset. And I was experiencing it with full consciousness.

"I think I'm better now." I said, looking up. "Guess I just needed someone to talk to."

"Glad to hear it." Lawrence said.

"I'm pretty tired." I said, my eyes suddenly growing heavy. "I think I'll go to sleep."

"That's probably a good idea." Holmes said. "We'll wake you if anything changes."

My nerves were finally at rest. It hit me like a rock, and I fell into a heavy slumber.

* * *

A peaceful buzz woke me up, tickling my ear. It was soothing just like a deep sleep. But it called me to attention. It wanted me awake. I didn't mind that fact. I opened my eyes.

I was sleeping on one of the couches, in a pseudo fetal position. I was instantly awake, fully alert. I slept for eons, it felt. I was renewed, rejuvenated. I was a new man.

I checked my wrist watch. Only a few hours had passed.

The buzz was in fact a fusion of many different conversations occuring simultaneously. Marines and scientists had all huddled together in the center of the main lobby, debating, arguing, ranting like a disorganized council chamber without oversight. The ambiance was thick with a soft drone, so much going on. I wanted to be a part of it, like nothing else before.

My body felt light and it was easy to move around. I stepped up to the outer rim of the circle, trying to pick out words of the many conversations, trying to match the look in people's eyes with the movements of their lips. Whatever conversations there were taking place, it was all of a solemn nature.

Their faces gave it away. The protective hum masked the gravity of the situation, but nothing can fool the amalgamation of five, well-rested senses working in synergy. My thoughts immediately went to the device Amy and I encountered in the halls.

A few NCOs observed their subordinates, making sure they didn't carry on too far in their shouting matches. So far, no one had gotten out of line, but it was clear to me something was up.

I found Lawrence at the edge, his brow furrowed into lines of concern. One of his hands vigorously scratched at two-day old stubble on his face. I slapped his elbow.

"What's the deal?" I asked.

"We're waiting on the lead scientist for a sit-rep."

"Sit-rep on what?"

"On the crystal." he said quizzically. "Don't you know?"

"The crystal Amy had?"

"Yeah. She went upstairs and gave it to one of the techs for analysis. Now we're waiting on the final word on what the hell it is. Where the Hell have _you_ been?"

"I was sleeping."

"Ah. That explains it."

"Let me tell you...it's amazing what only a few hours can do for you." My mouth was dry. I needed water after what seemed like hibernation. "I'm gonna go get a drink. I'll be back."

I stepped on over off the main square, transitioning form the black obsidian to a shale-blue carpet of one of the break rooms. I took a cold bottle of water from a refrigerator. I took one sip. It was cool and pure and just what I needed. I downed the whole bottle in just a few gulps. I reach for another and pounded it down as well. I felt completely satisfied. I took another with me in case I got thirsty again. I walked back outside into the main square and crossed the black sea of obsidian, and approached the group—half of whom were staring up at the east balcony, about three floors up. Amy was there standing firm, her stoichiometric outlines glowing with a buoyant confidence. At her side, was presumably the head scientist—the civilian we first met in our beginning of the Omega Wing.

For the first time, he looked worried.

One hand held a data tablet. The other was raised in a gesture to quiet us all down. Silence quickly adorned the Omega Wing.

"It is my reluctant duty to inform you all, that what many of you thought is indeed true. The device discovered by Spartan oh-seven-one was believed to be a high-powered Covenant communication terminal. No doubt, the contingent isolated in the admin wings of this facility knew of their ally's demise at the North. It is hypothesized that they transmitted a distress call back to a series of unknown coordinates far away from this star system. This Spartan was able to obtain an unusual rock specimen from an optical scanner on top of the device before disabling it. Just moments ago, our neutron imaging scanners attempted to extrapolate tangible values for rhythmically-arranged inclusions of crystalline morphologies embedded within the rock sample. Coupled with the latest Covenant translation lexicons, our quantum cryptography team was able to decipher the contents of the transmission. What we found was...alarming.

"Lima Company," he said, pushing the bridge of his glasses further up his nose, "it is with great apprehension that I should be the bearer of this exceptionally grave news. A grand fleet of the Covenant is headed this way, with intent to glass the planet."

The entire wing was abuzz again.


	14. Epiphany and the Exodus

**Epiphany and the Exodus**

For once, my thoughts and feelings ventured outside of Lima Company and the Omega Wing to farmers and doctors and engineers, to all of Zagosa Prime. Mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, sisters and brothers, people I had once known and countless others I've never met. Even in the bright moments the world basked in victory after victory, it was universally understood that the Covenant eventually win. Was this that last moment to be had? The hope that the UNSC instilled in the populace from day to day was a safeguard against despair and would never let that sinking feeling hit its civilians until that very moment. Until now, the military of this remote colony was able to hold them at bay, from the soldiers on the ground to the sailors high above...but not anymore.

Everything would change again. The Covenant masses were on the way. Like the moment the wraiths charged before us at the North side, that dreaded, sinking feeling hit me. This was it. Not just our last stand anymore, the planet's last stand.

I began to wonder about death, if there was something that awaits us after. Lawrence shook me. The buzz of the Omega Wing crept back into my consciousness, a loud drone thrumming into my ear as I looked to him.

"Hey!" he shouted, wide-eyed. "Got any plans?"

I felt a mix of emotions just seeing him. The man was scared to death. Everyone here was, especially me. As I looked around for an instant, I began to grasp the finality of our situation. In the end, there was little point in worrying. It would all be over soon enough.

"I'm sorry, Lawrence. I don't have a plan."

He let his arm slide off my shoulder. His gaze fell to the floor and he shook his head. "There's no way this is happening. After all we've done, why now?"

He voice was just a whisper amidst the tempest of emotion in Omega Wing.

A wave of authority eventually smothered the calamity at the lobby floor. One by one, our sights passed up to the third floor balcony where the lead scientist and Amy stood.

"Wait!" I said to Lawrence, who was still consumed in half anger and half fear. "If anyone has a plan, it's the scientist. Let's hear what he has to say."

I could barely see Gunnery Sergeant Smith, lost amidst the shuffle of Marines and civilians in the lobby.

The scientist nodded to Amy by his side. She nodded back. Cupping his ear, he announced, "I've just received word from Intel Forward Operating Agencies that the Covenant are indeed en route. Sensor outposts confirm their fleet passing through the outer rim just minutes ago. If measured in medium to high-tonnage vessels, they number in the triple digits."

Mouths dropped wide open. Disbelieving stares filled the lobby. Tears flowed. It was really happening.

"Ahem..." the scientist intoned, this time with the help of the PA system to seize our attention. "A mass evacuation of UNSC Defense Forces and civilians has been ordered to this facility. I encourage you all to get to the North loading bay and assist evacuees into this wing. Please note that high-ranking officers and heads of state should have consideration over others."

"What's going on?!" the Gunny shouted, easily piercing the ambient noise. "Why is everyone coming here?"

The scientist thought it over and chose his words rather carefully. "…Because this is the only safe place now."

"Of course!" I shouted, wishing I hadn't an instant later.

All eyes were now on me, the silence fully settled.

I forced a steady tone. "Well...why else would everyone in the world come to the Foreclay Outpost? Because the Omega Wing _is _the safest place. I mean, look at this place. We'll outlast them in here!"

"You really think this place can hack it against a Covenant armada?" Lawrence asked with a wary stare.

"I'm not a war planner, but it's the most hardened structure I've ever been in. I mean, look at these walls. Look at those friggin' blast doors for cryin' out loud! Did you even notice that this place doesn't even have any windows?!"

Haze emerged from the cluster of Marines in the center of the expanse. He strolled up to me and clutched his rifle firmly. "What do you do if the Covenant suddenly takes interest in your world?"

Lawrence answered, "You build a shelter capable of withstanding the unthinkable."

"Omega." Smith said. "The end. The last."

"This is what they planned all along." Lawrence said. "Omega Wing _is_ the last stand."

"That's right." I said. "We weren't just lending a helping hand to some civvies, were we? We were securing our own fate, and the world's."

"Yes!" Haze yelled. "We can wait for reinforcements. Some other colony can send the cavalry while we gather strength here."

"We can survive." I glanced up to Doctor Kleiner high above. Immediately after I spoke, he was shaking his head tactfully as if I had assumed too much. I thought that perhaps I had it figured out, that our presence here was one of humanitarian purpose, but apparently there was something I missed. I felt as though I spoke out of turn.

But speculating was now a waste. Refugees were also en route. I spurred into action and made ready to lend a helping hand to any survivors seeking the Foreclay Outpost. I looked around to find a place where I could lend my effort to the cause. I grabbed whatever provisions there were in the break rooms. "A lot of people will be coming here." I said aloud. "As much as the Omega Wing can stomach."

Not a moment later, the rest of Lima Company mirrored my actions and the wing was bustling with purpose yet again, quite possibly on par with the efficiency exhibited by Foreclay scientists. We pushed back all the couches to the edges of the lobby to make as much room as possible for the inevitable influx of refugees. I grabbed a few more chairs and walked to the vast square of the jet-black tile in the center of the wing. Once I set them down, I took a brief glimpse upstairs. Amy disappeared beyond sight with the lead scientist. I doubt anyone else knew where they were going.

"She's always disappearing." I said.

"I'd like to see her stick around once in a while." Struger replied.

I double timed it to the North side, down gently-sloped service ramps and wide turnstiles, finally to the massive blast doors.

I accessed a nearby keypad and the seal cracked, slowly slid apart. I crossed its wide threshold and fresh air submersed my senses. I stood there and took in the breeze as two other Marines joined up with me. The stench of rotting Covenant corpses was gone, and the ozone and the burnt oils and metals too. We checked our poly suits for rips and tears and made sure they were sealed against the effects of the Beta particles that were still likely to linger. We covered up as well as we could with our issued gear, donned our gas masks and headed out into the carnage.

We labored for what seemed like an eternity, toppling over mounds of corpses in the path from the land outside to the blast doors. We scooped up spent Covenant weapons and tossed them far into the shadowed periphery. Inoperative Warthogs or smoldering Wraiths would stay put. Once a straight path was attained, as one we back-pedaled it to the loading dock. I regarded the bay once more before I passed on to the other side of the blast door. The awning was still holding above, pieces of sheet metal sagging of its framework, the fasteners still clinging to the girders like we would to our survival. Some sections of it dipped down almost to the ground.

"Let's hope those people out there make it here faster than the Covenant can." I smiled at my commrades, but I knew not everyone out there would make it. The sheer distance for some to travel here wouldn't guarantee their survival, and we couldn't possibly fit the whole world.

Life just wasn't fair.

God willing, there were other Omega Wings out there.

"Pennington," one of them said, 'You really think this place can put up a fight against glassing?"

"Maybe. It's pretty stout. But maybe it's like Lawrence said earlier."

"What'd he say?"

"Said the Covenant wouldn't touch this place if they knew what was good for them. Scientists dug up something important here. I might be stretching it, but something is starting to piece together here. How did one and half companies defeat an entire brigade of the Covenant? Something's here that they want, badly."

"Badly enough to lose when success was guaranteed."

"I agree, but we can't get ahead of ourselves. We have to look at only facts, not our half-assed attempts at guessing. I mean, brigade or not, this whole planet is about to be incinerated, and now this is the only safe place. The Covenant brigade was cautious enough not to blow the facility to smithereens and they only took full strength once they committed themselves right here. The Covenant left behind in the admin sections called for help. Oh, shit...I have to speak with Smith."

I left the men at the loading dock and high-tailed it back to the main square.

Gunny Smith was there in the center, directing the operations inside. I disregarded any protocol and ran straight towards him. "Gunny, the courtyard is clear. Refugees can make it through and into the Omega Wing. What's the word on them? When will they start showing up?"

He took a slow look at me. "I don't know, Private. Soon, hopefully. We'll do what we can here. That's all we _can_ do."

I nodded. "Yes, sergeant."

"Pennington, I haven't gotten the chance to thank you lately. You've done a damn fine job so far. It's been my sincere pleasure working with you."

"Thanks." I said, wondering why his compliment had such a sense of finality attached to it.

I stood straighter. I wanted to say more, but he turned from me and went back to overseeing the Marines. I shunned my sense of uncertainty to the back of my mind. I had to do more. I had to be prepared for the worst. I high tailed it back to the loading docks.

The blast doors to the North gained in size as I rushed towards them. Over-informative bulletin boards were anchored to the surrounding walls and I hadn't noticed them until now. I got only a passing glance as I ran. Every one of them was filled with high-resolution recon stills of Covenant cruisers holding position over some unknown planet, their main batteries connected to the surface below through solid shafts of crimson light. I hopped over a turnstile which clicked upon my passing. Their true purpose was to account for shipments going in and out of the facility. Service ramps guided those shipments in and out of this place and I sped down one of them to the foot of the threshold. Past the doors' massive frame I could see my Marines standing on the loading platform, ready to lend a helping hand and be the ones to shut the gates when that fateful time arrived.

Past them, past the loading platform, past the bloodbath in the bay, and past the awning were tiny figures. Like the blast doors a moment ago, they gained in size, just black specs from here, contrasting nicely against the blood-hue of the dying sunset.

"They're here!" I announced. A duo of nods answered me. This first wave had reached the home stretch. They were safe…

Before I could get the chance to see their faces and welcome them in, they all froze in their tracks. As one, they acted, looking straight up as a gigantic shadow passed over them…as if descended from the heavens itself.

In a flash, the shadow over them morphed from shady black to brilliant red, bathing everything below in illumination. I didn't know why, but a strange impulse drove my eyes to the upper-left quadrant of my HUD where a counter resided. It measured in the tens of thousands of lumens.

The sight, both in my HUD and in my widening eyes, was horrifying and simultaneously awe-inspiring. Reflections of crimson bounced off every surface and into the bay, into my eyes. I could not see anymore.

The last things my eyes witnessed before I shut them were those people outside, the light storm consuming their silhouettes.

The insides of my eyelids darkened to normal again. I opened them. The people were gone, simply vanished. Only a smoldering crater of glass appeared where they once stood.

Like a commandment-punishment for taking in such a sinful sight, a residual heatwave advanced towards me with horrifying speed. The approaching blur was all I saw.

"Seal the doors!"


	15. Alone Again

**Alone Again**

"Bloody Elisa! Bloody-fucking-Elisa! They're gone!"

I couldn't tell which of my comrades uttered the words. All I knew was that I was on the floor, shaking and out of breath, the mere sight of the horror I had just witnessed driving the nail right into the coffin for me. I collected a few breaths. Like the pure crimson glow outside, the image of a hundred people dying in it was burned into my mind forever. Black figures on hell-red backdrop, now gone.

I made certain of the fact that I was still alive. I remembered...someone closed the doors not even an instant after it happened—after a fire rained down from the sky. I saw it clear as day. I couldn't believe it. They...just vanished. The intense heat wave barely entered the wing right before I fell. Had we hesitated even one second, we would've been cooked just like them. We were lucky beyond all belief. I picked myself up off the floor and checked myself for injuries.

"I can't believe they're gone." someone said.

"This is the worst time for panic." I said, maybe more to myself than them.

"C'mon!" I shouted, even as the shadow of remorse slowed my muscles and stilled my breath. I gestured further towards the interior. I gasped for air, willing myself to move upon my last thread of control. "We need to get away from this door before they come any closer. We don't know how strong the door is."

Despite its reassuring, imposing mass, I wanted away from it. There was no telling what kind of Intel this new Covenant armada had on this place or what kind of equipment they were packing. We had to get away. I hoped what the lead scientist said about this place was true. I hoped it was unbreakable.

The lot of us stammered back into the main lobby where the business at hand was the most frantic it ever had been. The place looked like an electron cloud—random, chaotic, dangerous. All military bearing and discipline had broken down. There was no order, only primordial impulse that drove everyone. I made determination to find the Gunny in the fray my number one priority despite people losing their minds.

Chairs and tables toppled over as people scrambled for their gear and for safety—a sturdy pillar or an alcove further out. Marines donned their polys with clumsiness. They hastily scurried and weapons clattered to the ground in their stupor. Some hit the deck, clenching the helmets covering their heads and anticipating the sky falling down. They were nearly broken. I saw one or two of them get trampled by others. But nothing was happening so far. Omega Wing was still intact. The Covenant could've easily toasted this place if they wanted…or could they?

The lead scientist's words hung in my head once again.

_This is the only safe place now._

That bastard better be right. But no conclusion was the correct one; this whole time, we never got any straight answers. We were led into battle again and again, one mission after the next. They always had the time and safety to conduct their business in this mining facility, at the cost of Marine sweat. blood and tears. Countless people died in the last moments. Innocents.

"I thought I had a good bead on things." Lawrence said, as if reading my thoughts. "...Turns out I don't know diddly-shit."

Lawrence strode up next to me taking in the sight. He was like me, awed not at the enemy breathing down our necks, but rather how easy it'd be to defeat us.

The Gunny was seen right in the middle of the madness, desperately trying to issue orders. There was no use. And he soon gave up. That's when our eyes met. Like sixth sense, we ran towards each other. "Gunny?"

"Yes. They're all dead. The whole planet is being glassed. I…I don't know what to do."

"It's okay. I know you did your best, sir. There's nothing more we could've done I guess."

"It's a damned shame, son. We all fought hard. But we can always take that to our graves."

"Maybe we won't have to, Gunny."

"Why is that? If you know something, tell me!"

"I don't know for sure yet, but I think we'll be safe in here."

"What makes you think?"

"Well, just thinking about what the scientist said. He said we'd be safe here…even against glassing, if I undersand him right."

"I'm not so sure, Pennington. I wouldn't bet my last rations on it."

"We _are _still alive, yes?"

"Maybe they're just trying to figure out how to best inflict the max amount of pain they can? They got all the time in the world now."

"No, I think it's more complicated than that. I think they want this place intact. I think they want something from here. That's why the brigade never glassed this place from orbit. That's why they won't do it now, either."

"Maybe the nerd squad _did_ dig up something worthwhile, but I doubt the uglies want this whole world a cinder just for a few excavations."

"We _have_ to get a hold of the lead scientist…and we _have_ to find Amy. But first, we need to calm down Lima Company. Going crazy isn't going to do a bit of good."

"You know, Private, I consider you for another stripe more and more each day."

"Thank me later when we're not fish in a barrel."

"Ha! You bet, Shakespeare!"

With that, we grabbed Marines paralyzed with fear off the ground. We nearly clotheslined passerby's necks as they sped past in lunacy. Sometimes you needed to give a little tough love. We eventually attained order after a few minutes of literally slapping some sense into Lima Company.

I made my way around to some Marines that I knew well: Haze, Lawrence, Holmes, and others.

Lawrence, Holmes, and Struger were quick to come back to their senses. I was thankful for that. Haze was a different animal. He sat in a chair, head held in his hands. His leg was bouncing up and down at a scary pace. Some of his hair had been pulled out, some of it still in his palms. I approached him with ease, careful not to startle him further.

"Haze. Haze, it's Pennington."

There was no response. I hoped he wasn't becoming catatonic. That would be a whole 'nother can of worms.

I tried again to get some sort of response. "It's Blake—your bud. C'mon, don't you remember? Shakespeare? C'mon Hazy Haze. Let's go. We've got some Covy to grease. Don't you want in?

"They're all dead," he said, raising his blood-shot eyes to mine. "They're all…fucking…dead. We're all alone in here! What can we do about _that_? It's over. Just let me die here," he said, his voice trailing off.

"He's in bad shape." The Gunny whispered to me. "There's no fight left in him."

...But at least he was still here. And I wouldn't give up on _any_ of my friends. I tried to coax him back into reality. It would be hard. "C'mon, Ryan. We're not done yet. Don't kick yourself. There's hope."

"...Hope." he said blankly. "_Hope? _What hope? We're beaten. We're done. They've run us into a corner."

"But we've got Omega Wing! This place is tough as nails, baby! C'mon!"

"Omega Wing is tough, but what are we gonna do? Hide in here forever…knowing we lost? Sounds pretty fucking lame to me!"

"Don't you want to at least see what happens—and at least fight until the _very _end?"

The Gunny finally made his way between us, half of Lima Company in attendance to this spectacle. No one interfered with Haze and I yet as they gathered.

I looked around…

Tight-faced and weary Marines had the floor, their hard eyes meeting mine. Their weapons were racked and ready. They were steady again. And they waited for something good to happen once more. Some measure of hope. It would come, because we held the floor, not the Covenant.

Haze was sobbing, not even the willpower to wipe away the tears. Every Marine's heart went out to Haze. I could feel it in the air as I placed a hand on his shoulder.

I whispered, "We have to keep going, Haze."

"What's keeping _you_ going?"

"Faith, man. Just a little faith."

"Well, I got a news flash for you, there, Shakespeare: reality is kicking faith's ass right now! So unless you have a plan that's gonna save the day, you just count me out."

"This isn't working," Lawrence said from over my shoulder. "Let's just leave him alone for now."

"Alright, but I won't give up on him. Do you hear that, Haze? I _do_ have a plan. It involves finding a scientist first. Preferably, the head one. We're gonna make it, Haze. We're gonna survive."

I wasted not even one heartbeat. I left everyone there and ran to the staircase. I was going to get some answers this time.


	16. Descent

**Descent**

I had climbed the last step in one of the many spiral staircases. I looked back at it and scorned. The face of the steps and the hand rails were a shiny chrome alloy. I couldn't believe what sort of splendor had been put into the place. It seemed trivial. It was a mining camp. What was so special about this place that it deserved such amenities and a plethora of scientists?

Coming into focus next to the staircase was all of Lima Company, as well as what was left of Sierra. Struger had nothing to do without any large object to blast away, and his weaponry had been inspected more times than a Peclian before flight. They all waited patiently while I went on the hunt for truth…and a plan. I never thought I'd lead an outfit until a few more years and striped on my sleeve. But the scientists that were there a few moments ago had disappeared and I didn't just sense a frustration among the Company...I _felt _it. Maybe the labcoats retreated into their mainstays, down the elevators.

I realized Amy was MIA again. Whatever it was the scientists were trying to keep a secret—even from us—they deemed her worthy of 'need to know'.

With that, I double timed it around the perimeter of the third floor balcony just to make sure I hadn't missed anyone in my search. This balcony was much more extensive than those below it, surrounded the circumference of the entire lobby, crests of palm trees rising to meet me just an arm's reach beneath. I never noticed them, they blended in so well with the wall murals that depicted a wild setting to begin with. A pseudo-dome beckoned above, complete with clouds and a star. Down below, the blackness waited as if sucking my sights into its depths. I forced my gaze away and to the task. I checked every office off the balcony, running from door to door. Nothing. There was no one in sight.

I ran down the staircase with the Marines milling around the lobby floor, drinking, inventorying supplies, making ready for what was next. I ran around the entire ring of the second floor balcony. Every office was empty.

That left only the elevators.

Were we just left to stay here? What were the scientists doing down below? Did they forget us? Were we _really _safe up here?

_Where the hell is Amy?_

_What happened to me finding answers?_

I stopped my search and walked down the staircase. The Gunny remained fixated on me, waiting, his hands half raised in anticipation. "No scientists?" he asked.

I shook my head. The row of elevators caught the corner of my eye. They were tall and wide. The highly brushed aluminum doors exhibited no seam, perhaps more novelty than a neccessity. Undoubtedly, they were high speed freight lifts. I continued to stare at them.

"Are you sure?" the Gunny queried in doubt.

"It's the only choice we have. Besides, they never laid down any ground rules for us. I guess we'll just invite ourselves in."

"I guess." the Gunny consented.

I ran over to the wall and called an elevator with a button. Down was the only choice. A door at the far end instantly opened with a chime. I waved everyone to jump aboard as I walked closer to it. A single elevator car could probably fit half of us. The remainder would have to call their own and hopefully rendezvous at our unchosen destination. We just about reached the doors…

The lead scientist emerged from the elevator as if on cue, his frail, lanky body turning to face us. "Oh. Were you thinking about going down?" he asked with what seemed a genuine politeness.

"Actually, yeah." The Gunny answered for us.

"It's time you gave us some answers." Haze added.

The scientist was somewhat taken back by Haze's mute aggression. He pondered our assertion with a hand on his chin. looking down at a tablet in his hand before passing his sights up into the ceiling of exposed vent ducts and framework. And then further up he gazed—into the false sky dome above. There was seemingly no limit to his thought. "Yes. I believe it is time as well. If you'll please follow me into the car, we'll make our descent together." _Finally_, we were getting somewhere. The man called another car and waited for it to surface at the lobby floor. "Not everyone will fit into one. Please split into two groups and choose your own elevator if you're so inclined to see the rest of the facility. You, you, and you should probably come with me." he said pointing to me, Gunny Smith, and Haze.

We complied and made our way into the elevator's spacious interior—stainless walls and floor. I looked back and made sure that Haze came along. The last thing I wanted was for him to be all alone. He brought up the rear and sauntered into our elevator car. He looked a little better than before and I had a good feeling he'd stay that way. Judging by the way he addressed the scientist, I knew he was at least back in the general swing of things. Struger was next, a surface-to-surface rocket slung over his back. I could tell he favored its power. Lawrence, Holmes, and the Gunny were all in too, as well as a few others I hadn't the chance to get to know better yet. It was a comfort to have my best friends near me as we pressed further into the unknown. The doors slid closed and hissed. The cars apparently had their own atmosphere. Interesting, another one of Foreclay's safeguards—spared no expense.

The lift started its descent, slowly at first. It gradually picked up speed until we were falling very fast. I knew what freefall was supposed to feel like. I had experienced it many times before. And our rate of descent was just a hare below what terminal velocity would be. With no inertia-controlling electronics, we probably would've been thrown into the ceiling. Our rate of descent was just under the point at which our feet separated from the car's deck. They had all the details nailed down alright, spared no expense.

The scientist turned from the door face and looked at the rest of us. "We are approaching the mines now. These turbolifts, as you can probably surmise, are dropping very fast to our target—of classified depth of course."

I looked just above the doors at the LCD floor marker. It was blacked out.

"By the way, my name is Doctor Eli Kleiner. I am the civilian administrator here at the Foreclay Mining Outpost. I'm sorry that introductions come at a delay, but things have been quite busy here, as you've obviously guessed." He once more checked some sort of handheld datatab. "I am sorry, Marines," he continued. "We haven't been able to fully disclose some pertinent information to you in the past hours and we are deeply in your debt, not only for playing along but for providing protection and escorting our technicians into the admin wings of this outpost. Without your service, the mission could not have been accomplished."

"What mission?" the Gunny inquired.

"Let's see..." he wondered, scratching his balding scalp "…where to begin. Ah yes, our mission began several months ago shortly after the Covenant arrived in-system. During routine mining operations, we came across a substance that was not categorized or easily referenced in any field of study. Immediate action was taken in the midst of an attempted Covenant occupation. Normally, such items would be placed in museum displays simply because of their rarity, but individuals with pay grades much higher than mine sought to take little chance and accept no risks when dealing with matters in which the Covenant took interest in. The two events occured simultaneously, you see. The Omega Wing was built. Once erected, the Omega Wing enabled us to continue with confidence in the face of total UNSC destruction. Fortunately for us, they never knew the exact location of the substance we were dealing with. It wasn't until we activated it that the Covenant zeroed in on our location. This was when we called for reinforcements."

"Us." the Gunny concluded.

"Precisely, Gunnery Sergeant."

That explained it—why the Omega Wing differed so much from the rest of the facility. It was a brand new addition to the outpost. Kleiner's new information also explained why the UNSCDF at Zagosa was able to defeat the Covenant force time and time again. For every engagement on this colony, we only faced pockets of Covenant armies, fractions of their real strength. They never knew exactly where to tie down their resources. They were preoccupied and scattered looking for something that the Doctor owned. By the time the Covenant invaders found what they were looking for, they were in their death woes. Their ground assets were already wittled down to the point where Lima Company was able to take them out. Amy's choice to nuke them literally saved us, the outpost, and probably the whole planet...at least until this armada showed up. Another factor in our favor was that the now-gone brigade had no orbital reachback as well, their fleet having long since fled the AOR. Apparently, they couldn't withstand the wrath of the planet's orbital guns.

I wondered how the battle was going upstairs anyway, high above in the vacuum. If there even _was_ a battle. Kleiner had said that the Covenant ships numbered in the triple digits.

The scientist continued. "We needed the right size force—enough to repel the Covenant army, but not enough to attract too much attention. You see, we wanted it so the Covenant's artillery could be wiped out. Every citizen of Zagosa Prime could eventually be air lifted to this facility en masse. To no fault of our own, we initiated the exodus a little too late. The Covenant communication beacon that your Spartan found set off the chain of events that we feared most. Needless to say, the exodus failed. Now we are all that's left."

"Wait…wait." Haze said. "You wanted the whole planet's population to come here to begin with?"

"Yes, that is what we originally intended. One particular advantage in our favor was that the Covenant army did not have any ship borne provisions. Their fleet dropped off a mobile assault force and then jumped back into slip space hoping their ground assets could do the job of infiltrating this facility and extracting what is was they were looking for. We would've started the evacuation process sooner, but we had to be certain of key issues first."

"What issues?" I asked.

"We had to first be sure that the device under question acted as theorized. We didn't fully know its capabilities until just a few hours ago."

"What device?"

"You'll find out soon enough. I still can't disclose that information until we've reached the mines." He shrugged his shoulders and offered a meager smile. "We'll have to wait until we enter the SCIF...I'm just obeying protocol. Furthermore, we need to maintain a 'need-to-know' basis. The device we're dealing with is classified under 'X-ray' directive, the most secret it gets. We didn't want unprivileged eyes and ears around the facility, the one underground. As air tight and efficient as this place is, it is nonetheless run by just humans. Mistakes can occur, as you well know."

Another piece of the puzzle revealed—the reason why I could never hope to gain insight into the scientists' dealings. Even Lima Company was never privy to the discovery in the mines. Not unless we had the need to know, which they deemed was now. The operational security that the Foreclay scientists exhibited during our stay was borderline paranoia schizophrenia, but it was indeed leak-proof.

The elevator halted, though, the doors did not open. Instead, I felt lateral motion and a rhythmic mechanical noise. _Clunk-clunk…clunk-clunk._

"The elevator is transitioning." the scientist announced. "The cable has been severed and we are gliding on a cross-motion buoyant-gear. There are many shafts that lead to the mines, some of which are no longer in use. This transition ensures that we will traverse the correct path and that intruders will waste considerable amounts of time finding which mines are currently in use. Soon we'll hook up with another cable on the other side and descend further."

"My God." Holmes said. "How deep does this mine go?"

"Extremely deep if I do say so myself." Kleiner promptly replied.

There was a lot of time to kill in the ride down. I took the opportunity by the horns and looked my team over. I made sure they were strapped for the long haul. Indeed we all were. Command had sent us enough supplies to fight a small war. I wondered if there was still a command out there. I had the hunch that the remainder of our stay here would be in the mines. I wanted to make sure Lima Company was packing all the heat they could in case we ran into trouble. Though, the mines were undoubtedly the safest place in the outpost; the safest place in the _world._

"In case you Marines were wondering," the scientist added, "internal pressure will gradually equalize with that of the mines down below. If not for the elevator's atmospheric regulators, your inner ear would rupture from sudden hyper-pressurization. You would probably lose all equilibrium as well. Consequently, this built-in atmospheric equalization feature acts as an intrusion prevention measure as well, further insuring any unauthorized access will result in breaking down the intruders' will in using any of our transport vectors to gain entry into the mines. That is, of course, if the construction of their auditory organs are as fragile as ours. Adamant security measures must be implemented in this stage of entry to the mines, for there is where the prize lies. You will see."

A smile crept into the lines of his face and barely tugged at the corners of his mouth.

I couldn't help but notice that however calm and composed Doctor Kleiner was, he exuded a distinct pride in the facility he presided over. His delight in the place was becoming boldly palpable—almost to the point of conceitedness. The mines were a special place. I knew it, Lima Company knew it, and the Covenant knew it. But Kleiner venerated it to an almost godly magnificence. I couldn't wait to see why. I couldn't wait to see what indeed it was that they found. As Doctor Kleiner so eloquently said, 'we would see.'

The elevator stopped. This time the doors opened.

A cool, dry air whisked gently into the elevator. It permeated my pores and excited my senses. I felt unusually awake and alert, yet calm and at ease. I was instantly fond of this new environment, just like the home Omega Wing had been to me lately. Glow rods at steady intervals illuminated the winding way with ghostly-white iridescence. Ahead, the path through the mines twisted and turned with jagged walls and a low ceiling, stalagmites and stalactites jutting outwards. Like teeth from a savage beast, they swallowed the glow rods' radiance with ease as the daring light snaked its way further into the darkness.

One step out the door and I was eager to complete the journey we started.


	17. The Mines

**The Mines**

"I must confess," the scientist said culpably, "your visit to the mines is a little premature. Sorry, wrong choice of words…just a little sooner than expected is all. We're still testing it and would prefer just a little more time in order to give a solid, hands-on demonstration of its capabilities. When dealing with a thing of such power, it is of the utmost desire to ensure consistency first. Nevertheless, your presence here is justified seeing as how you have given so much. I suppose it couldn't hurt either way. Follow me."

As one, we stepped, out of the elevator and onto a solid foundation of rock, mostly granite from what I could tell. I traced my sights onto the glow rods fading into the distance as the path before us winded away. The sounds and the scents were soothing. The dense rock all around shielded us from enemies high above. Metal tracks were sunken into the bedrock in front. Some of them looked electro-mechanical while others were clearly MAGLEV. They curved with the path and disappeared into the farthest recesses. That was it: the carts riding these lines ferried the mineral ore and various precious metals upwards aboard the turbolifts, out the back side of Omega, down the docks and into the courtyard where they were palletized and prepped for interstellar shipment. The giant mound of dirt we climbed for air-dropped supplies and MEDEVAC was made entirely of excess materials exhumed from these mines.

A noise caught my attention, a steady _drip-drip. _Off to the side, droplets of water pooled both below and above. "Is it safe to drink?" I asked.

"Yes. Feel free to indulge." Doctor Kleiner assured, looking at as many Marines as he could before walking deeper inwards.

I walked up to a small puddle resting on a low shelf, stooped over the crude fountain, and scooped up a mouthful with my cupped hands. Before drinking, I covered my face in it, pressing its purity into my skin and rubbing away the salty sweat stuck to my eyelids. I took another scoop and fed it into my mouth, slurping it and savoring its cool taste as it soaked into my tongue. I felt like a new man, my mind ever clear. A brief pause and I was back on the move, pulling just behind Kleiner and the Gunny in front. I wanted to be in the loop as much as possible.

"This is the only region in the entire planet to contain clay deposits and the clay layers reside at the surface, thus the aptly-named Foreclay Outpost. Geothermal vents below continually satisfy the clay layer above in its affinity towards plasticity. And where there is clay, there is Iron. Large amounts of it. Coupled together, the clay and Iron act as a natural Farrady Cage. The process effectively screens out any electromagnetic probing the Covenant used to find our device. This is why we _and _the device, were able to avoid detection for nearly six months. We readily exploited the thermal activity as a limitless power source, mainly used for the admin wings. The Omega Wing and other special sectors required more, reliable power."

I loved the history lesson, but I was repeatedly drawn away from it by the scene of the mines. Doctor Kleiner became background noise as the path winded left, right, up and down…sometimes a combination of them. Traveling single file as only our path would allow, we each took our turns weaving between stalagmite and stalagtite protrusions. Low ceilings opened up to tall ceilings, and then back again. Wide, waist-high shelves glittered with microscopic gems and crystals beneath the pools of water that collected there, shining like constellations in a night's sky. The deeper we proceeded the cooler the air got. The polypropylene suits were the only effective barrier we had against an all-out shiver. Alternate paths soon stemmed away from ours. Unlike topside, there were no signs to indicate a destination. Instead, Doctor Kleiner continually consulted the tablet in his grasp, once again our guide.

He stopped and scrutinized the display, pointed towards the right with a firm nod, the path gliding gently down a bit. "This way." he directed.

We each took our turns again, duck-walking under a low ceiling, only able to fully pass a mining cart contently. Only a foot-deep partition of solid rock separated us from an unusually straight path with a much more comfortable head room to it. I sensed it was angled slightly down, maybe a five-degree grade. It felt good to let gravity take my feet for a change. The trek so far had felt more like a session of calisthenics. Flashbacks of boot camp physical conditioning raced through my mind. Burning muscles, evaporating sweat in a cool breeze and a drill sergeant seeking more misery for recruits.

We arrived at a large, circular intersection with many paths to choose from. Tracks from all directions led to this wide junction, all terminating in the center where a complex switching platform laid. Off to the side troubleshooting some electronic conduit was Hal Overton, dressed in the same grease-stained blue coveralls. This time he had a hard hat, gloves and knee pads. In his hand was the ubiquitous yellow plastic case of a Fluke digital multimeter.

"Say," Lawrence said, "didn't we see him back in the Omega Wing?"

"Yeah." I said. "I remember him grabbing water from one of the break rooms. Maybe he paid a visit to one of the scientists, or maybe he had maintenance issues that needed tending to."

Lawrence laughed out loud. "Maybe we'll never know what it was he does here besides drive forklifts."

"Well, he has free access to the mines. That's for sure."

Lawrence regarded the technician one last time before we moved on. "Heavy maintenance guy with a clearance, how about that."

Kleiner led us along a path just beside the one Hal occupied. Before we passed through the grand intersection, Hal paused his work to get a good look at Lima Company, nodded curtly like a colleague, then quickly went back to his maintenance duties. We passed through another low ceiling. Another few paces and we appeared onto a much wider lane with a very high ceiling, Mercury-vapor lamps recessed into the rock like the prying eyes of an apparition floating above.

"Ground's perfectly level." Holmes said.

And it had a single track for a mining cart stretching on into the dimming distance. Twin concrete sidewalks flanked either side of us.

"Must be the main service tunnel." the Gunny said.

"One of many." The Doctor announced.

"I think the air just got a little warmer." I said.

We were now adjacent to the concrete slabs as we walked. They stretched deep into lighted alcoves, the farthest recesses containing rows of free-standing shower heads over tiled flooring. At the edge of the raised slabs were a few aluminum sinks and lockers lined in rows. Duffle bags and running shoes and loose clothing articles were draped over wooden benches.

As one, Lima Company turned heads and looked at the slab to the other side. Cots and sleeping bags were lined in rows as well.

"This," Kleiner said gesturing to the sides, "is our living quarters. Accommodating…wouldn't you say?"

"A mining camp in every sense of the name." Haze quipped.

We pressed on. A high-vaulted granite arch led the changeover to a very wide chamber, this time with a ceiling just high enough to fit a man of average height. Rows and rows of cafeteria style tables took up most of the space, with a conveyor belt butted up against the far left wall. Further behind the serving line were cooking stations and revolving coolers much like one would see at a neighborhood buffet. In their clear windows were all varieties of imported fruits and vegetables and desserts. And further, the doors of the galley where food prep took place. Far to the other side of the mess hall was the dish and trash line—a long conveyer belt laden with plastic trays and glasses and soiled silverware.

A wide set of double doors at the end took us further, this time to a small auditorium with its ceiling hewn high. Semicircular rings were carved right out of the rock and enveloped the room, cascading higher and higher until the farthest ring nearly met the ceiling. The sitting surfaces were polished smooth and simple cushions adorned them at regular intervals.

"Our briefing room." Kleiner said as he strode through.

The empitheater-like room was adorned with a podium and microphone as well as a PA system occupying all 'corners'. A holographic pedestal took up the floor space just about center stage.

We did not stop. Kleiner paced through as if on autopilot.

"What is all this?" Haze asked aloud.

"This is our existence." the Doctor stated simply. "Start the day, wake up, clean up, eat breakfast, get briefed on the day's tasks, and then off to the laboratory."

Once led past the auditorium, the Doctor then brought us to a narrow corridor, able to fit two men shoulder to shoulder. On either side was wire shelving filled with personal protective equipment and various handheld electronic devices. Hard hats, ear plugs, ballistic goggles, steel toed boots, lead aprons, welder's masks, spectrum analyzers, bit synchronizers, power meters, microwave simulators. Most of the equipment I was familiar with.

"It's like you live here." I heard the Gunny mumble.

Another low ceiling and we emerged on the other side, the grandeur of the site catching me and everyone else by surprise: a cavern of immense volume, hollowed out to look like an empty hemisphere. A generous ledge arced around the entire circumference of a vast lake in the center. It must've been at least a hundred meters in diameter. Murky water just a few feet away sucked up the light from all the glow rods and cast eerie reflections onto the rocky surfaces. The Doctor paused for a moment just outside the threshold to the chamber.

"Please watch your step, Marines." Kleiner cautioned. "This is the primary coolant sump for our nuclear reactor. It is quite hot, just a shade below boiling."

He resumed once again at a brisk walk.

Every footstep reverberated off the concave bulwark dome, so voluminous that I felt singular, as if Lima Company around me didn't exist. Far ahead and straight in line with our entrance was a white light. Not harsh or glaring, but soft and natural. Inside the light were men in white lab coats laboring in duties, just specs from our vantage. Among them, barely distinguishable, was a tall military man in the whites—service dress uniform. I had almost missed him, like camouflaged Elites. He stood there, broad-shouldered, watching the laboritorians scurry about in their tasks. Gleaming in the light was the unmistakable silver sheen of a metal eagle as he turned our direction.

A Naval Captain.

The eagle insignia sat in the middle of his cap, glinting in its ambient light like a survival mirror even from this far away.

"What the hell is an oh-six doing here?" Struger asked.

"We just entered the big leagues." Holmes whispered almost absentmindedly as he stared straight on.

"Whatchu mean?" Haze asked.

Holmes gazed off into the murky green abyss around us as he replied, "Usually, Captains in the Navy are out and about commanding warships or briefing Admirals on intelligence matters. Think about everything we've been through since our insertion into the Omega Wing. Think."

"Seems as though all this riff-raff _is_ an intelligence matter." Haze fired back. "Of different sorts."

"Oh-six, huh?" the Gunny said over his shoulder from the lead. The tell-tale jest that we all loved crept onto his face. "Then be on your best behavior, Marines."

We just about spanned a quarter-length of the giant lake's circumference in a two-element march, shoulder to shoulder and slowly, careful not to slip off the edge.

The light began to fade from view. My eyes took several seconds to adjust to the dim, almost dark of the glow rod panorama. I looked back and saw my friends, my Marines. One at a time, I gave a curt nod to Haze, Holmes, Lawrence, and Struger. They each replied in their own mannerism—thumbs up or a tip of the helmet or an identical nod. I turned back to the front just as we came back into view of the light a few moments later, now within our grasp.

Our coming here was a fate in the making. I had the feeling something significant was to happen as we approached the threshold. I just knew it.


	18. Disappearing Act

**Disappearing Act**

The bare, unapologetic rock beneath our feet ended abruptly.

Seamlessly, it transitioned to a white, polycarbonate tile which reflected nearly all of the intense fluorescent lighting above. My eyes fully adjusted to the ambience—a laboratory of sorts. I'd never seen anything like it, obviously a facility on the cutting edge of science and technology. Towering from floor to ceiling at every wall were equipment chasses bolted to the deck with computing consoles and telecommunications equipment locked away inside each one of them. A slow pan across the breadth of the room revealed a flurry of blinking LED status indicators, twinkling on and off like the stars of a cloudy night. Bench stations with electron microscopes, high-reliability soldering stations, automated fusion-splicers and spectrum analyzers hummed as technicians operated them in their tasks. In a protected, cage-like enclosure twenty meters left was a bank of cryogenic tanks. A polyp of steel-braided lines blossomed from its top plate and snaked into a nearby wall. At the far end of the chamber was a blast incinerator, its heat tamed by a translucent plate of plexiglass.

"Some crazy stuff in here." Haze murmured.

"Raised floor." Holmes said. A few of us looked at him, most of us with befuddlement on our faces. "Cryogenics over there cool down the equipment in here. We're standing on top of its ducting."

And just off to the right was another vault door much bigger than the one in Omega Wing. It could easily fit ten people shoulder to shoulder and two high. The grandeur of the room caught me off guard. We were face to face with a Naval Captain.

The Gunny called, "Room, tench-hut!"

We all snapped to attention and turned to statues. The Gunny snapped off a crisp one to the Captain for us. In turn, it was properly and promptly given back.

"Sir," Gunnery Sergeant Smith said, "Lima Company reporting as ordered."

The Foreclay Mining Outpost was getting stranger for every minute elapsed and more shadowy for every meter descended. Something important was happening in this laboratory. The amount of skilled labor taking place this moment was reason enough. If it wasn't reason enough, surely the Naval Captain standing in front of the largest vault I had ever heard of, was. "There's a lot of business here." I whispered. "I wonder if we'll ever know what it is."

Holmes replied. "Well, apparently the only surprise left in store is to see what this device is."

"...Then we can get some shore leave." Haze said with a dry humor.

"At ease, Lima Company." the Captain ordered, stepping forth. The field-grade officer in front was tall and lean, a proud and commanding posture about him, just like I envisioned Naval Captains to be. He smiled and swiped his cap off with one hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm, studying us briefly just as we did him. He wore a full head of light-brown hair, lined with solid grey around the edges. His face was chiseled, somehow looking old and young at the same time. "I am Captain Lawson, commanding officer of the Foreclay Outpost. Sorry for the cool climate. Make yourselves as much at home as you can before we leave."

The Gunny looked around the bustling laboratory, almost frozen with confusion. "Leave, sir?"

The Captain did not reply to the Gunny, but instead cast his perceptive gaze over to Doctor Kleiner who announced almost on cue, "Per protocol, I have not disclosed the full scope of the project, Captain. That includes egress."

"I think we can skip protocol for once, Doctor Kleiner."

The Doctor's brow furrowed slightly. "But I still haven't given them a demonstration, not to mention, we haven't even completed the remaining test and evaluation sessions."

"Well…what are you waiting for, Doctor? Show them."

Kleiner turned to us. "This way, Marines."

Kleiner strode to the vault door and produced a finger print and a retinal scan. Once his true identity was confirmed, he punched in a PIN on a mounted keypad. Then, with his entire weight, he thrusted a huge lever lock counterclockwise. A braying hiss nearly robbed me of hearing as the door swung open on inward-facing hinges. All of Lima Company was motionless as Kleiner enacted his routine.

Haze gaited towards me just before the door reached its maximum angle. "Think you can pick _that _lock, Shakespeare?"

As we walked in, scientists still carried on with their tasks, oblivious to Lima Company and its new friends.

Struger and Lawrence were up ahead, whispering to each other about something. Both had the new BR-55 Battle Rifles anchored to their rucksacks. Lawrence looked all around at our new surroundings, satisfied that the mines were now a safe place, wholly human-controlled. He gladly let down his guard and proceeded to care for his favored rifle. He deftly unbuckled it and performed a drill-spec pirouette that would make a U.N. Color Guard Leader blush. He sealed the rubber dust covers over the top-mounted 3x scope with great care.

Him and Haze still had a standing bet, but were unable to put the new BR-55 to the test just yet, maybe never. The Covenant would unlikely breach the Omega Wing and infiltrate the mines. But I felt Lawrence would win. What the new Battle Rifle lacked in bullet barraging, it likely excelled in accuracy.

Struger, the consumate heavy weapons professional, always took time out to make sure his weaponry was clean and in good working condition. He also had inscribed personal art on the rocket launcher since we entered the mines, did it while he walked. Holmes was just a few paces away. His arm was healing nicely off hemostatic agents alone. It wouldn't be long before he was a strong rifleman again. Haze was far ahead, almost out of view. He was in better mental condition than before. Covenant glassing had a way of demoralizing entire planets. I wondered how long it would take to finish their orderly, methodic criss-cross pattern of destruction. But it was in the past. And now I could let my mind occupy other things than unit morale. Haze was in the lead and wanted to be in the action again. It was all that mattered.

I was the last through the massive door as I looked back. The Captain saw us in and shoved the door closed behind us, a whirring sound as the hinges moved.

Kleiner was our guide once again.

The corridor was dark, nearly pitch black aside from a few meek glow rods paving the way for us. But stranger than the surrounding darkness of this ultra-secure chamber was perhaps an even more humbled light. It covered the walls like an army of ants, teeming with docile business and a sense of socialism—a luminous community. I wouldn't even have noticed it if I was still in the middle of the pack. I stole a moment for myself and ventured closer to a wall for a look. Something was different about these particular walls. I hadn't seen this display before. These walls didn't just have a few gems and crystals glittering in the rock, no. I saw a pattern emerging as I stared harder.

There were coherent symbols impressioned inwards, logic in their arrangements—spirals and dots and bars, squares and triangles. I bent even closer, my nose nearly brushing the sparkling surface. Suddenly, the characters seemed to blur around the edges and fade from my vision. They were moving in place. I blinked and stepped back ever so slightly, straining my eyes in the dark.

There they were again, back into focus.

Lke a symphony of light, the symbols moved in unison. The rest of the team had already pressed further on and disappeared around a corner. Part of me wanted to follow, another part wanted to stay here and simply marvel at its splendor. I had never seen _anything_ so alive yet tranquil. I peeled off a polypropylene glove from one of my hands, the sweat of my palms cooling in the ambient air. I risked a touch against the surface of the wall.

I set a finger down right on top of one of the symbols—a spiral mosaic that diminished into ever smaller curls, its curvatures fading seamlessly into bare rock. It was glass-smooth. Strange, it warmed to my touch. I curiously switched on my helmet-mounted halogen light to see better in the dark, but it was barely any use. The glow fully reflected back in my face as if the symbol rejected foreign light.

I switched it off and the symbol had taken on a new luminosity of its own—a faint red, like metal heated in an open flame. From the center, the red bloomed outwards and spread into the arms of its spiral, warming to a pleasant orange, then brilliant yellow-gold.

From the depths of the rock, a new symbol appeared that hadn't been there before. It seemed concious to input, alive. It emerged from the core, a triangle of pure white. I touched it and static sparked between us. In the next instant, warm, radiant light raced to its surroundings and spread into the farthest foreseeable distance. Symbols exponentially materialized everywhere—on all sides of the mine shaft—until the entire corridor was alive with light and shadow. Even with full luminosity attenuation of my HUD, I still had to blink and squint.

For as far as I could see, the tunnel was alive. If light frequency was audible to the human ear, I would be deafened.

I had initiated a chain reaction of whatever this was. I felt a tinge of fear as hairs started to stand on my body. But the only thing happening was light—dazzling, white light. My fear went away.

I began to think of explanations. What was this, reactive alkali embedded into the igneous matrix? I could postulate a dozen reasons for this, but I was no scientist. I had no way of proving theories. Maybe they had already accomplished that. Whatever it was, it clearly had my attention.

I then remembered Homer's Odyssey—how beautiful bird-like women enchanted sailors to their death with beautiful songs, much like this manifestation of light stole me now. Sirens…they raised their sweet voices as ships passed by, causing sailors to become dazed, losing all recollection of their former lives. The wayward men were contented to waste away on the beach, continuing to listen in as the Siren's songs filled their ears...until the only thing left of them were their sun-bleached bones.

Lima Company was out of sight. I felt lost. I needed to regroup with them.

I found a side-passage ahead with fresh footprints. I managed to round the correct corner and sneak back into formation unnoticed, black spots swimming in my sights as I tried to adjust to the darkness we walked into.

I already missed the inviting, bright light of before. I looked back and could barely make out the beautiful glow, so faint now.

I made my way to Struger's side. Doctor Kleiner was still rattling on.

"It's really quite a shame that you all could not take a longer ganders at the lab facility. It's marvelous. It's the largest and most advanced workshop of its kind...ever built. The clean sectors are free of moisture and oxygen, of course. And we also house the largest static-free room, even though only a handful of people know this. Consider yourselves very lucky, Marines. The whole underground complex has been awarded every major ISO certification ever published. We've garnered several awards already, and if not for its secrecy, they would be published into the public domain.

"Maybe one day the scientific community by and large can enjoy its ammenties as we have. Ah, we _have_ been blessed. But nonetheless, I digress from the real issues here. These facilities were built for one purpose, to study the device. And judging by the ignorance the Covenant has displayed so far, we can assume that whoever built the device was of a technologically-advanced society unrelated to the Covenant. Advanced far beyond our culture, beyond even the Covenant culture, beyond all reckoning!"

"Eli looks like he needs a breather to me." Struger said, glancing at me.

"Yeah he's getting all worked up and all of us haven't even seen this little gadget yet."

But that was about to change. I could feel it as Doctor Kleiner halted just outside a small, sturdy doorway. "This, Marines, is where the treasure lies…just beyond this airlock."

I looked the access way over. The doorway in front was merely two meters high, just enough to fit the tallest Marine in our group. And it was narrow, only able to accommodate one human at a time. Lights crawled over its surface, status indicators of pressure integrity and whatever else. They reminded me of the light show I saw further back in the corridor, though it was a synthetic mockery of the real thing.

But after everything I'd experienced in the outpost and in these mines, the door itself seemed to beckon as Kleiner waited for us to catch our breath. It was likely my imagination, but it desired to be unlocked, as if entering might just define a life's existence. Something strange and, perhaps wonderful, was through this ominous doorway. I was mere footsteps away from crossing through and making the discovery for myself, but maybe I was just miles away again, musing as usual.

The Doctor suddenly took on a new energy. The faint, glowrod reflection from his thick glasses barely masked his wide-eyed excitement. "Hold on to your helmets, Marines."

He opened the door and a tang of metallic air surged forth with a hiss, engulfing Lima Company with its coppery synthesis. The smell was altogether strange. The Gunny was first in, followed by Haze, Holmes, then me. Others behind me followed, but for some reason, I was no longer aware of how many Lima Company numbered at present. It was of lesser concern; and I didn't want to look back.

We entered single file down a short, dimly-lit corridor. Almost immediately after the entrance was an identical door to the left, thin and short. As if sensing our confusion, Doctor Kleiner said:

"Proceed to the end and take your seats, Marines." He held the outer door open until the last of us were in. The narrow hallway dead-ended about twenty meters in.

Approaching the end of the corridor per the Doctor's instruction, the right hand wall recessed further away by a couple of meters, giving room for rows of chairs—staggered in ascending height. The left hand wall in front of the bleacher-like seating housed a section of plexi-plate glass, a small room on the other side of it, too dark to see. Our attention was redirected at the sound of Kleiner closing the outer door behind him once everyone was seated. He took two steps inward, turned towards the door off to the left and tapped in a command to a nearby keypad. A blast of air descended on him from ducting above, blowing his lab coat into waves. Lint and dust fell into metal grating below.

"We like to keep the resonance field as dust-free as possible." Kleiner said as the door opened. He walked through.

Within seconds, he was within our view beyond the plexi-plate transom—at least half a meter thick by my watch. Motion-sensing electronics in the room he occupied activated overhead lights, which graually grew brighter until we could see the inside of it clearly. It was mostly empty, except for a single pedestal in its center. "Don't tell me we're up for another death-by-holo-pedestal-briefing again." Haze said.

"I think your assumption is wrong." Holmes answered.

The Doctor unhinged the top of this monolithic stand. His face lit up with exhilaration, incongruous to the character of a chief scientific figure.

From the inside, he pulled out a single object: a black ball, so black that I had to stare at it to believe it was real. Black as if it sucked in all the light around it, distorting the very air surrounding it. The sitting chamber was abuzz much like Omega Wing was before. Marines looked at one another as if they had explanations to offer. Others stared in disbelief just as I did. Struger in front of me was on the edge of his seat, marveling at whatever this thing was.

The Doctor cleared his throat, the hoarse sound resonating into our chamber a half-second later through a PA system in the corners. "This," he said absentmindedly, "represents the fruits of our labor." He glanced up through the plexi-plate and into our chamber.

"Who will volunteer to aid me in this demonstration?"

I heired on the side of caution this time and only looked around. A handful of Marines had their hands raised. Others were like me, testing the proverbial waters, wisely spectating.

"You there!" Kleiner pointed into the window pane. Struger stood up, his curious hand gesturing inward to himself. "...Yes, _you_."

Struger stepped out of the bleachers and towards the pressure door. "Lucky bastard." Haze mumbled.

Struger waited there for a moment at the threshold to the antechamber. The fierce draft from above procedurally cleansed him of dirt and dust, then the door opened. He stepped through.

I jostled around in my seat, wondering when he'd come back into view through the glass. There he was, nearly by Kleiner's side who was still at the stand in the middle. As Struger approached the Doctor, observing the black ball as best he could without interfering with Kleiner or the demonstration, we could clearly make out his confused face from the other side. "Doctor," he said with an overwhelming amount of curiosity in his voice, "what is it that I need to do?"

We all felt the same. The device was so strange and intriguing to look at, but I couldn't even fathom what it did. Not one soul here could except one civilian. As so many times before, Lima Company didn't have a clue what it was doing here.

"Nothing, Private. Do nothing. Now," Kleiner announced facing the spectators, his muffled voice crackling through the loudspeaker, "we can begin the presentation. What I am about to attempt has been done many times before. All previous trials have been successful and there is no cause for alarm. Everything you are about to witness is perfectly normal."

Despite the calming words, we all knew something extraordinary was taking place here. He turned to Struger—on the other side of the pedestal. "What is your name, Private?"

"Jon Struger." he replied, his voice wavering with adrenaline.

The Doctor held the ball in the palm of one hand, manipulating the ball with the other, tinkering with its surface, all his concentration vested into it. The lines of his face hardened. He touched the device as one would a datapad. It then seemed to shimmer and haze the air. "And how old are you, Jon?"

"I'm twenty-thr—"

He disappeared.


	19. The Fruits of Our Labor

**The Fruits of Our Labor**

The sitting chamber was on fire, aggravated with conversation—the sitting chamber was in total disarray. I couldn't truly describe the flux of reactions I was witnessing from others. I was too busy with myself, just trying to convince myself this was real. I broke free my mind from the chaotic expanse and realized my heart was racing. Calming thoughts couldn't even control my shaking. Every hair on my body was raised. I took a deep breath…yes. Struger disappeared. He vanished. He was gone.

The Doctor said this would be normal.

Was it?

I looked into the room he stood in on the other side. He exuded no particular reaction to what just happened. Apparently, it was normal. Struger's disappearance was what Doctor Kleiner had intended.

I took a harder look at the man. He simply stood there and observed the chaos through the window like a curious onlooker would at a caged group of animals.

I made a quick look around the room: I stood up, fighting for a good vantage point to see who was here. People were standing, ranting and raving and speaking nonsense. I knew Lima Company was better than that. Our discipline had got us this far. Though, this whole situation was nonsensical. What we just witnessed defied all logic, all laws of our universe. How could someone just disappear? I couldn't wait for the explanation.

Once I was able to stand tall enough, I saw that everyone—minus Private Jon Struger—was still here and intact. I half expected us to suddenly appear in another place, to wake up in another reality. It was then that I noticed the air was colder than before, my body shaking and surging with adrenaline. I brought my hands to bear, seeing that my extremities became moist with sweat.

Struger instantly materialized back into the room next to Doctor Kleiner. All of Lima Company was in uproar again, the sudden spike in noise hurting my eardrums.

Shock was the subject of the room with no order to be had in our confusion. Lima Company Marines were too busy talking to one another, just talking crazy. God came up a few times. And I didn't bother to speak. It was of no use; the discussions made no sense. And I didn't feel like raising my voice just to ask what the hell was going on, as if any of us knew anyway. I waited for what seemed like half a standard hour for everyone to quiet down. I looked next to me at Holmes, who was just as shocked as I, and gave him a nudge of the elbow. "Holmes, what the Hell do you think?"

"I don't know, man. I literally don't even know what to say right now—"

"I do." Haze said from a row further up behind us. "It's teleportation. They found out how to teleport with that black ball."

"It could be just a sham." Holmes said cautiously. "...that stand in the middle could be a sophisticated holographic manipulator."

"Now why would they drag us all the way down here for that?" Haze countered. "After all we've been through. I'm telling you: it is teleportation. That's why this place is so secretive. That's why an oh-six is running the show. _That's_ why we always got the run-around."

"And that's why it was worth two million lives and a planet." Lawrence added.

"I suppose you're right." I said, nodding my head stiffly. "I guess we'll wait to see what the good Doctor has to say."

"Yeah, if everyone would only get a hold of themselves." Holmes added.

So with that, I looked past the plexi-plate window again—into the room on the other side. I looked at Klenier. He stood there with a certain look, a certain aura about him—casual or all-knowing. A sly smirk and a careless posture, he waited patiently for the Marines to quiet down. Struger next to him was in awe, speechless, pawing at his clothing and checking himself for any 'defects'. And to my utmost surprise, he had none. The Doctor successfully teleported him to somewhere outside the room and then back again.

Amidst the proverbial magic show, something else tugged at my mind again. Just like before…

Amy.

It would have to wait. I was certain she was safe somewhere in the mines. Somewhere.

One by one the Marines took their seats again and quieted down, but the air was still the same. The chamber was still abuzz. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, the entire room electrified with anticipation and wonder. We were hungry for explanation.

About half a minute went by with Doctor Kleiner's gaze frozen to the ground as if for dramatic effect.

"I think the good Doctor gets a kick out of his little spiel." Haze said to me.

Doctor Eli Kleiner somehow sensed the teeming stillness of the sitting chamber. In perfect silence, he took one step towards the stand in the middle of the room, Struger backpedaling in accordance, wide-eyed and shaken. Rather than putting the black ball inside the stand where it supposedly resided at all times, Doctor Kleiner instead placed it on top—resting it for all to see. It pulsated with pure darkness, splotches of black brimming and churning with nothingness. It was the strangest thing ever to look at, but so pleasing as well like man's primordial attraction to fire, so instinctively alluring. It begged to be held and used. He held out an outstretched palm towards it.

"This," the Doctor said executively, "is the Singular-Point Field Effect Manipulator."

His posture touted straighter until the Captain uttered over the loudspeaker, "_Just call it the Transit. That's what I do_."

"My God," the Gunny said inattentively, "how does it work?"

"We don't actually know." Kleiner replied, scowling at a camera. He turned towards the plexi-plate to face us. "It's a mystery we haven't solved...yet. However, our quantum cryptography team with the help of our A.I. has been able to successfully interface with it and operate it. You see, teleportation has always been possible mathematically. But our civilization hasn't evolved enough to possess the kind of innovation that produces something like this. Thank whatever it is you believe in that we stumbled upon it. And once we did, rapid-fire successes occured. Once we proved feasability of its operation in a controlled environment, we brought it here where we went ahead with developmental test and evaluation in a real-world setting. We've conducted several relocation trials already. First it was individual atoms, then tea cups. Once we felt comfortable with it, we moved on to bigger objects like computer terminals, and now…people."

"So we were your final test subjects." the Gunny said. "Cool."

Even despite the Gunny's typical humor I could see that something didn't quite sit well with him. I noticed it instantly right after he swallowed, then checked his shaking hands an instant later. I had never seen him so stirred. But his nervousness was warranted. I was a little nervous too. The strategic implications in the mere discovery of this device were huge, literally galactic. If the Covenant ever got their hands on this, they could win the War in the cosmic blink of an eye. We had to deny them this thing at all costs. It was now a weapon system.

I hated to say that the countless deaths of Zagosa citizens—soldier and civilian—was justified. But that's the way it was panning out.

I peered through the plexi-plate and took in its mass—so tiny—able to fit in the palm of my hand. So many dead over so small a thing. The world above was likely smoldering cinder because of it.

"This is simply amazing." Gunny Smith said, staring ahead. "_The _most amazing thing ever. This is what you were hiding all along."

"Yes." the Doctor replied.

The jet-black orb just sat there, motionless. Though its shape had undeniable solidity, it appeared as though the perfectly round sphere swam into itself, churning, a void that pulled in Lima's collective gaze.

"I wondered for the longest time," the Gunny said, fixated on it, "why they sent us here...to a dilapidated, old mining facility. I thought the Covenant was on a wild goose chase or they were just trying their hand at random genocide again. But I can't believe you're actually holding...a superweapon!"

"Yes," the Doctor said, "ever since the Covenant arrived, we acted under the assumption that there would be no more UNSC at Zagosa Prime. In fact, our orders specified the continuity of operations long after Zagosa Prime was glassed. It was just another disaster scenario in the books for us. And now look...It's a reality. It's as the Old Russian proverb says, isn't it? 'Plan for the worst, hope for the best.'"

"In-fucking-deed." the Gunny said, taking his seat again.

Haze stood up, looking the Doctor squarely in the eyes. "We can win the whole friggin' War with this thing!"

"That is now our intent, Marine. We will do precisely that."

"So then, we're leaving." the Gunny said resolutely.

"Soon..." Kleiner corrected. "First, we need to fuel it."

"Fuel it?" the Gunny asked, his head cocked to one side.

"Yes. As versatile as the device is, it requires tremendous energy to teleport objects. We've saturated it many times with all the microwave energy we could muster, but it drew so much current that our prime power plant wasn't enough to sustain it. We were forced to tap into our geothermal reserves to continue testing. It inadvertently knocked out all power to the admin wings of the facility as a result."

"Wait...as we moved towards Omega Wing, the power in the halls got knocked out. We had assumed it was the Covenant in the vents. We thought they hit the mains or something."

It was in fact the scientists, trying to infuse energy into the power-hungry Transit. Everything made sense now.

"No, I'm afraid it was our doing." the Doctor admitted. "A neccessary risk, nonetheless."

A look of clarity flashed in the Gunny's eyes. "Obviously."

"I can do two more volunteers." Kleiner announced with a wily grin.

The Captain cut in remotely over the loudspeakers, "_Two more and then we have to make ready to leave, Doctor_. We're barely on-schedule."

"Very well, Captain. Now…who would like to try it out?"

Haze stood up, eager to experience the impossible truth of teleportation. "What if you're wrong one time and you teleport half my body into the ground? What then?"

"It was intelligently designed in consideration to the operator's bidding." Kleiner rebutted. "It has never failed. Every test session has yielded precise, consistent results. It will never transpose foreign molecules with that of your own inert form. There was an intuitiveness in mind with the original design of this device as if it can surmise your wishes. In layman's terms, all the guess work is taken out."

"Hmmm." Haze thought it over as he stepped to the pressure door—about twenty meters our left. The pneumatic blast from above systematically cleansed him of debris. "Why do you like to keep it so clean in there?" Haze asked, needing more reassurance.

"We still haven't determined the extent of ambient scattering created by field displacement. Micro-interaction of 'life-sized' particles in the plane of transfer still has the possibility to affect our mass-displacement characteristics."

"How about that in Layman's terms, Doctor?"

"It means we're not taking any chances until we're forced to."

"Well, that's good to know."

Haze took an explosive breath and stepped into the room. The door slid closed behind him momentarily. A few footsteps and he was back into view through the plexi-plate. He took his place next to Struger and situated himself on the other side of the pedestal from the Doctor, who once again picked up the Transit and started to caress its shape, Lima Company ready for something amazing again. He poked at it and danced his fingers atop. We waited again for a friend to vanish and return.

"Just one volunteer?" the Doctor asked. "No one else? Then I guess Jon gets to go again. How about it, Jon. You ready?"

He nodded his head, taking a deep breath.

Kleiner jabbed the sphere once with an index finger.

They both appeared on the other side of the plexi-plate, instantly facing the front row of Marine spectators. A few of the men jolted in surprise and a few even reared backwards in their seats. There was a murmur in the crowd much like before.

"Two transfers at the same time." Holmes noted aloud, nodding his head thoughtfully.

"This thing is freaking awesome." The Gunny replied aloud.

Marines left their seats and went up to Struger and Haze, patting their hands on their uniforms to see if anything had changed about them, asking them what it felt like. After a few minutes of this, something caught our attention. Something far away. Something we were all trained for. Silence once again had a hold of us. We listened again.

A subtle vibration, soft like thunder. A distant booming, concussive as wardrums. Eerie calm before a storm.

"_Doctor! Get the Marines out of there right now! Commence the final phase of Project Gateway!"_

The booming stopped and the gentle tremor ceased to exist.

"What's going on?" the Gunny asked, wide-eyed. "Have the Covenant broken inside?"

"See for yourself." Doctor Kleiner said, holding his tablet high above his head.

It displayed real-time footage of security cameras high above—the Omega Wing lobby—where we once subsisted in perfect safety. The North wall that adjoined a break room I had once visited was completely demolished. Through smoke and chunky debris, hordes of Covenant creatures were pouring through. Blurs of purple and green and deep blue pushed through the rubble, traversing the beautiful obsidian. Their footsteps tarnished the Wing. And following close behind the initial assault wave was the disconcerting sight of multi-faceted blurs scurrying towards turbolifts. Special operations Elite commandos were pure motivation—skilled, cunning and relentless. Escape them or die fighting them—the only choices ever afforded a Marine.

I was fixated on the impossible displayed in Doctor Kleiner's tablet. Night sky cleaved its presence through the breach in the wall and unveiled splotches of oval-shaped light in the clouds. Covenant cruisers—hundreds of them. And beyond the mammoth gash in the once-permanent bulwark was a giant, mechanized creature crawling over endless fields of glass. A large aperture of some sort was mounted abows. It glowed a bright-green, surely responsible for the destruction.

The Doctor ran back into the static-free room and retrieved the Transit, and ran out faster. "That was a scarab. We've received Intel reports of them before. They are always bad news. We must leave _now._

"Where's Amy?" I asked.

Kleiner opened the outer door. He turned, found my eyes amidst Lima Company. "She's already waiting for us at the Lambda Complex. We have to move!"

He pushed past and ran for the corridor. We followed.


	20. The Flight to The Lambda Complex

**The Flight to The Lambda Complex**

We once again ran for our lives, combat boots wildly crunching into the bedrock, spinning up rooster tails of dust and chaos into the glowrod darkness. Doctor Kleiner was undeniably in the lead, his white lab coat flapping into the unknown ahead. Suit and weapon lights frantically oscillated side to side against the indescernable floor. Pretty soon, we were all out of breath. But we didn't dare stop. We rounded a corner, hastily checking all directions for trouble as we blasted through the intersection after Kleiner's lead. To the right was the laboratory where we met Captain Lawson. To the left was where we were headed—to the Lambda Complex.

"What about the other scientists?" I asked, sucking in air.

"We can't worry about them!" Kleiner shouted back, not missing a single stride.

I instantly thought about Amy. I hoped to God she was already at the Lambda Complex. I would have to take Kleiner's word that she was there waiting for us, though. With nothing I could do about it, I thought of Captain Lawson. Surely, he was on his way with his staff in tow, or better.

I could barely _see_ I was going so fast. So I activated my night vision. Green bodies and faces scurried as fast as they could through the ambient dust in a straight bee line after Kleiner—leading us to the promise land. As I ran, I wondered what was in the Lambda Complex, if we'd be safe there. I wondered if it was as strong as the Omega Wing. But the Omega Wing was now infiltrated—in enemy hands. So how safe could _anything _be now? And this tunnel looked like it could easily house a Covenant scarab.

But this was the only choice, now. Run to Lambda or be killed.

The organic illumination in the walls faded and gave way to mercury-vapor lamps recessed high into the ceiling. Visibility was about a hundred meters now. The lactic acid was starting to accumulate, much fiercer than times before. It wasn't going to be an easy out for Lima Company this time around. The sprinting journey would continue on like this for miles, seemingly no attaining the spec of light at the end of the tunnel. There was no way we could keep up the pace we had. We weren't marathon runners. Especially, not with all this gear. We'd tire out. The Covenant would get us. And worse, there was no telling how far into the mines they already were. They could be right on our heels for all we knew. I glanced over my shoulder, past Marines. Nothing…no enemy in sight. I still wasn't comforted. They could be ravaging the scientists' quarters right now, or ransacking the lab for their prized piece. Lucky us, Kleiner had it in his hand. But they'd inevitably come this way. "How far to the Lambda Complex?!" I shouted.

My legs grew numb with pain. The only sensation was heaviness in them, like they were made of fifty pound weights. They were starting to turn lame. But just as impossible as it was to move them, it was equally impossible to stop and allow the Covenant to devour me. It all came down to a choice. I replayed an old memory in my head. A saying that my drill instructor made me memorize back in Basic.

_Pain is temporary, pride is forever_.

Our unit's coveted motto. I never thought much of it back then. But the man standing over me saw fit that I take it with me, and somehow knew that I'd need it one day when I was running from Covenant. Turns out it was the most important thing. It defines the difference between life and death.

I snapped back into the chase. A renewed vigor sprang in my veins. I could do this. I could make it.

"I can't make it! I have to stop!"

It was Private Tabs somewhere in the rear of our group.

"We must get to the Lambda Core!" the Doctor said, not even looking back. His shape started to grow smaller as I stopped and doubled back for Tabs. He was kneeling on the ground, panting. I approached his side.

"Get up, Tabs! It's now or never!" He was exhausted beyond belief. The fight in him had dwindled. I said, "Get up!! Pain is temporary, pride is forever."

He picked his head up, eyes searching my own. I involuntarily smiled at him, not knowing I did until he smiled back. He rose and started running. I followed, gradually picking up pace again. Coming into focus through my sweat-drenched eyes was a cluster of autonomous loading vehicles, mining carts and personnel transports. I couldn't believe it—a way out of this mess.

"Hey!" Haze said, reading my mind. "Get in the vehicles! We can haul ass to Lambda!"

My prayers were answered yet again. Before reaching top speed, I glanced back over my shoulder. There were grey columns, wavering side to side almost out of sight. And a green glow—typical of front-line plasma pistols—dotted the view. It was them. The Covenant.

"We couldn't have reached these vehicles at a more perfect time." I muttered with the last of my wind.

Everyone looked back to the Covenant horde as I looked ahead. Our destination was way out, but now we had a ride. We had our miracle.

But suddenly, Kleiner hooked sharp right up ahead. His lab coat shone like a signal flare in the intense white light from above just as he disappeared from sight. One by one, Marines reluctantly followed him in this new direction—a narrow corridor. About five meters wide, it was just large enough for warthogs or pairs of mining carts. We pumped and pumped and pumped our legs down this hallway, a set of short stairs not even a stone's throw away. Kleiner was first up, waving his badge in front of a scanner. It lit up green and he threw it open as fast as he could, its metal bulk slamming into the adjacent wall with a bang. He stood there holding the door open, frantically waving us in.

Haze shouted, "What the fuuuuucccckkkK! There were warthogs back there!"

"GET IN!!" the Doctor shouted, overriding any doubt we had.

I was the last up, Tabs just reaching the small flight of steps in front of me. I glanced back once more: faint shadows grew larger at the intersection behind, bouncing up and down. I put all my will into my useless legs, skipping steps as I applied my last burst of energy. The noise became clear—yelps and barks and rabid screams bouncing of the walls off the intersection outside, searing my ears. They were upon us. They were within striking distance.

I dove past Kleiner and through the threshold. Darkness enveloped me.

I found myself on the ground in a dark hallway an instant later. I rolled over and looked back at the door. Kleiner peered through a thick window in it. He slammed it shut just as I landed and quickly entered a sequence into a nearby keypad. Then, a faint, weary smile came across his face, which put me at ease. A chime echoed just as a thick slab of metal slid into place, making the view in the window opaque. I felt comforted again.

It was then that I noticed a burn in my right elbow. I had skidded on it for a few meters as I ground to a halt after my desperate dive home. I stood up.

Kleiner butted his way to the front of the pack. "Keep moving!"

His renewed sense of urgency surprised us all and we flinched after him, jogging down this new hall. It was now a series of corridors much like a maze, reminding me of the admin wings—only much more cramped this time. But to my surprise, it was easily navigable compared to the halls high above because he led us on a perfectly straight and level path, ignoring any of the tributaries. For a hundred meters we ran until suddenly stopping at the brink of a wide set of stairs, leading gently downward into double glass doors. Stenciled in red were the words that comforted us: _Lambda _on the left door and _Complex_ on the right door.

I let out a sigh.

The Doctor swung them open.

We stepped through on his lead. And inside was a grid-like arrangement of office cubicles. Computer terminals, printers, phones, desks, coffee bars. Your typical office.

"Is there no limit to the oddity of this place?" Holmes asked, catching his breath.

Transitioning to this was a little strange. The whole room was a tribute to the color white. White linoleum flooring, white cubicle partitions, white styrocrete walls, white everything. It was a perfectly square room, with only one door at the far end. Kleiner and everyone else strode towards it, not wasting any time. A few steps and we reached this door.

Kleiner opened it and the view was starkly different. Scientists were here. All of them. The ceiling was very low, Seltzin having to hunch over in order to fit through. The walls were a thin, green tarp that pulsated in waves with every undulating air current.

"We're inside a tent?" The Gunny said more to himself than others. Thin, metal benches were set up along the perimeter of the large tent, on which priceless communications gear sat. High-rate multiplexers, MIL-standard IF fiber modems, multi-band up/down converters, crypto devices, bit synchronizers, and neatly bundled fiber optic and CAT-10 wires leading into routers, switches, and a plethora of test equipment saturated the makeshift shelter. Liquid nitrogen cooling jackets occupied a corner of the room, high-pressure lines protruding from the sphere-like objects in all directions like the head of a medusa. All the scientists were manning these communications consoles, typing commands, reconfiguring cables and more business-like than ever. As every time before, they paid no mind to us.

Snaking out of a duct was a communications cable—thick as an anaconda. We entered through another door at the far side—

—and were now in another room just as small, no tent this time, but solid steel walls. The anaconda cable slithered its way through an adjoining port and fanned out into ten smaller cables, all connected to a series of high-powered amplifiers. Waveguides shot up from these amps and disappeared into the ceiling at the edges of the room.

It was some sort of signal bunker, probably constructed to support high-bandwidth, top-secret communications.

"This place can carry more conversations than a metropolis." Doctor Kleiner said, taking note of our distraction.

We poured through another heavy door at the far side...

It was an immense room, much bigger than any other room during our entire stay at the Foreclay Outpost. We were dwarfed. Not only by the sheer size, but by the humming of the massive machinery and electronics. It was deafening. We were face to face with a large reactor. Steel girders held the towering hulk upright and in place as they faded away high above where they attached to the high rock walls. A wide concrete slab led to the foot of this powerplant.

Caught in its deep shadow was Captain Lawson.

And he was not alone.

Not one…but _two_ Spartans stood beside him.


	21. The Lambda Core

**The Lambda Core**

Two Spartans. I couldn't believe my eyes.

Two green armored figures, standing tall and firm. One of them was Amy. I was certain it was her as she conversed with the Captain. Her movements were familiar, very precise. The other…I had no idea of. One Spartan was great, now two?

The three of them were all facing the reactor, oblivious to our presence. We just waited for Doctor Kleiner to take action. He stood amongst us, catching his breath and deliberating his next course of action. I looked around in the spare time, for when we first arrived in the Lambda Complex, I thought we reached another shelter of sorts. It was old and decrepit, messy and dirty with thin layers of dust caked on every surface. They hadn't used this place in a while from what I could see, but the reactor hummed with life. Scientists were churning away with the electronics further aft, like they were trained professionals in the equipment. We weren't sidetracked. This place was definitely a part of their plans from what I gathered.

Doctor Kleiner walked very swiftly towards the reactor, brushing past Captain Lawson and the Spartan pair. It was then that they turned around and noticed us. Kleiner strode up to some sort of receptacle—a small box about waist high with a small window. A trio of large-diameter waveguides met this receptacle, two on the sides and one entering the top. I had a hazy idea of what this was. It was known as a coherent combiner. Very few places had such an amplifier. I could tell this particular combiner and its waveguides were shoehorned in to be used with this immense reactor—specially suited for the Lambda Complex. Such a device was usually meant for extreme long-haul communications, doubling or tripling your effective radio horizon. Not this one. Energy of high amplitude would pour into this receptacle and radiate whatever was in it. This, apparently, is how they will fuel the Transit. Brute force, but if energy is what the Transit wants, energy is what the Transit will get. He opened it and placed the Transit inside, the view port slightly obscured with a brass honeycombed mesh. As he walked back towards us, he gave a nonchalant thumbs up to the Captain—who nodded in riposte.

The Doctor walked over to a nearby lever half-sunken into the floor. He threw the large breaker switch and the hum of the reactor rose higher in pitch. He wasted no time, spinning on a heel and marching over to the wall at our left. It towered high above, curving to meet the other walls at the apex above. Blue powder-coated steel beams shot out from the reactor chassis at various points like a metallic Medusa, bending at precise locations into the walls with sturdy fasteners. Against this base of this wall were lots of suits, heavy and reflective. He took one off a rack and donned it, flipping up his opaque visor so we could see his face. Once situated, he approached us, walking straight to the Gunny. "Wait here."

He proceeded back into the signal bunker, disappearing behind the stout, steel door.

Immediately after, Captain Lawson went through the motions. He suited himself up in this protective ensemble, retaking his place by the Spartans' side.

We were left alone with nothing to do, a Marine's worst nightmare.

"What the fuck!" Haze yelled. "This is bullshit, I can't believe this! How the hell did they get in...and so quickly?"

"How do they glass planets?" Holmes asked in reply. "How do they jump into slip space faster than us? How do they always win? Because they just do, man!"

Haze quickly reserved himself, shaking his head in confusion.

I had never heard Holmes yell like that. In fact, in my whole, short, two weeks in Lima Company, I had never heard him yell at all. It wasn't in his character. He was calm, cool, and a silent professional. This meant things were heating up and getting worse.

"All that doesn't matter!" the Gunny yelled, looking at us all dead in the face. "Keep your shit together!"

We looked so out of place just milling around in an uncoordinated gaggle, nothing to do, bizarre to how we were trained. Captain Lawson soon took notice and left the two super soldiers to themselves—conversing.

"Gunnery Sergeant," he said. "While we're here, why don't you have your Marines get into vacuum environment suits. You're going to need them where we're going."

"Aye, sir," the Gunny replied.

The events Lima Company was getting caught in were becoming stranger by the minute. We had defeated an entire Covenant brigade. We were introduced to an alien artifact that enabled humans to teleport with it in possession. Now, there was another Spartan here. We were to don space suits. I held my questions for later and simply did as I was instructed.

Lima Company was congregated near a wall, suiting up into VAC suits. I found them easy to get into and easy to use as well. A convenient user interface was located on the left forearm. I unhinged its cover plate and started the battery warm-up cycle. I browsed a menu within the forearm-mounted LCD, finding that this suit had a mild power assist to it—a magneto-polarized colloid gel layer. It would definitely come in handy. To conserve our air supply, we kept the air pumps off and left our visors open.

Suddenly, Captain Lawson brought a tablet to bear, his gel layer aiding his movements. His device was exactly like the one Kleiner had all this time. He scowled at it.

I was the closest Marine within arm's distance to him so he grabbed me by the shoulder. "Private, get in that bunker and tell Kleiner he needs to move his ass!"

"Yes sir!" I snapped to and shot straight for the bunker with full speed, pushing Marines and the Gunny out of the way. I hoped the Covenant hadn't broken into the Lambda Complex. If so, they would not be far away at all. In fact, they'd be here in seconds.

I plowed through the outer steel door and sped past the green waveguides fingering their way into the ceiling. I plowed through another door, appearing into the tent.

Scientists were scrambling around the room. Their footsteps pattered around the tarp floor, stench of sweat and fear in the air. It was the first time I had ever seen them notice me. They were worried. How much safety had the Captain and the Doctor promised them?

Kleiner was at a console. I ran up to him. "Doctor, the Captain says you need to hurry. I think the Covenant are breaking through."

"Yes, I know." He handed me his tablet. I peered into its screen: the Covenant had started using plasma torches on the thick outer door—the one I had dove through earlier. That slab of steel was at least half a meter thick, but it wouldn't hold forever with that kind of hack. "You should go back to the reactor room, Private. We have to stay behind for just a little longer."

"Why, Doctor?"

"We're compiling our data and sending out a mass communiqué to the MAJCOMs."

"Other colonies know of this project?"

"Yes. As soon as we uncovered this device, we kept all systems abreast of our findings. Only those with a need to know, if course. Some believe that other planets may hold the same secrets. So in case we don't make it out of here, we send files of our operations for the last six months, our discoveries, and our final farewell. This is it. If we don't make it, at least they'll know. Maybe they can uncover more alien artifacts of interest in other worlds."

The Doctor was sweating.

"Doctor Kleiner, who is that other Spartan?"

"That is Adrian, oh-six-six. Ever since the Covenant came, we rounded up all available Spartans in ZACOM. They are an invaluable asset to the fight."

I nodded my head in agreement as the Doctor was still typing in his message that was to be broadcasted to the masses. "I thought the Covenant glassed the whole planet, Doctor. How will you transmit?"

"The waveguides lead up to a phased antenna array—spread out over ten miles. The dishes are housed in silos. Plasma bombardment will not have affected our last resort communications."

This fact comforted me in some way. No matter how bleak our situation, no matter how deep we had gotten ourselves, at least someone out there would hear from us. They would know what happened here. We wouldn't just be ashes scattered to the winds.

This was it. All cards were being laid out on the table now. I took this opportunity to vent all the questions I could think of with what little time we had left. "Was Lima Company destined to come here?"

"Destined? Well…yes. Having a Spartan in your outfit guaranteed your place here. We're taking the fight to the enemy's front door now. We need the best of the best. Congratulations, Marine."

He dropped the compliment on my lap, as if he knew of the pains we endured to get this far but chose not to delve any further. I remembered Kleiner saying to himself that the Transit represented 'the fruits of our labor'. To say that seemed disrespectful to me, as if everything the scientists uncovered and worked for was solely brought upon by the deaths of countless civilians and warfighters—my Marines.

"So, are you going to fuel the Transit now?"

"Yes, this is our most powerful and capable reactor. It should provide the Transit with enough juice to get us out of here."

"What was down the other way…further down beyond the Lambda Complex?"

"That's where we discovered it."

The state of the Lambda Complex was starting to make sense. It was not too far from here that they discovered the Transit. They didn't have the resources at this location to tinker and experiment with it. Rather than cram a high-tech lab into the small offices of Lambda, they built it right next to the scientists' quarters further back in the mines, ensuring little downtime in testing. At the beginning of each shift, the team would shower, eat, get briefed in the day's duties, and work in the lab—walking distance away from their livelihood. Good move. So the Lambda Complex had been seldom used in the past months, if it was even used at all. The Lambda Core was the final piece in this brilliant plan—the rook saved for the endgame. It left more questions spinning in my head, though.

"When we leave…do we just let the Covenant settle in? Will they uncover any secrets?"

"The reactor overload sequence should take care of that."

"Will everything go up?"

"Everything."

"Good."

Kleiner jerked his head towards the table where his tablet lay. "Oh…oh-no."

I glanced over at it. The plasma torches of the Covenant mob were just about to fully pierce the outer door to the Lambda Complex. We had precious little time.

"Everyone!" the Doctor shouted. "Finish what you can and send the message. Get into the bay and get into suits. We leave now!"

I wasted no time. I ran back to the solid steel door of the signal bunker. I opened it and entered the reactor bay, which had taken on a new light. Through the window that the tiny Transit resided in, was a beautiful sapphire glow. It illuminated the whole area in front of it in brilliant blue. It made fascinating arcs of light against the Spartans' refractive armor, prisms casting onto all surfaces of the room. All of Lima Company and what was left of Sierra Company were now fully suited up as well as Captain Lawson. The Spartans apparently had oxygen reserves of their own in their MJOLNIR armor system. Scientists poured out of the door, scurrying into the bay, followed by Hal Overton. He always appeared at the strangest times. He quickly disrobed his blue, grease-stained coveralls and got into a VAC suit like his life depended on it. It did.

The light from the coherent combiner slowly faded and disappeared with a subtle flash. The Transit had undergone a metamorphosis somehow. It looked a little different. Its shape and size were the same—tiny, black sphere. But under the black surface was an iridescent chromate sheen, like there was a ball of pure chrome residing at the core. Its shine was faint, barely noticeable. I hoped it meant good things.

The Doctor began his procedure, poking at it and sliding his fingers at specific points across its surface.

Before all of Lima Company reconvened into a tight group around the Captain, I saw Kleiner, the Gunny and his next-in-command residing a few paces distant, barely out of earshot. They spoke over a private channel in their thick, leathery suits. In the next instant, Kleiner paced away from them, toward us, his head bowed down and avoiding any eye contact. I then caught the side of Staff Sergeant Rios' face as he threw up a swift, rigid salute to Gunnery Sergeant Smith, his posture straight and proud.

It was odd to see an enlisted member saluting another. Such customs were only required when acknowledging officers' presence. Nevertheless, one could salute another out of sheer respect, and that's what this currently was.

Rios held his salute there until his superior formally returned it, and the look in the one eye I could see was a combination of sadness and determination. Then, Staff Sergeant Rios turned our direction and approached without the Gunny following behind.

"I have a little announcement, Marines." Gunny Smith broadcasted.

Silence followed.

"The Doctor informs me that the Transit lacks the juice needed to get us all out of here."

"What's going on, sir?" Haze asked, wide-eyed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying someone needs to stay behind."

"Some_one_?"

"Yes."

"Just one person."

"Yes, Private."

None of us knew how to respond to that.

A few people left behind to confront the approaching Covenant would be acceptable, but to do it all alone? It was almost unimaginable. We had come so far, all of us. And once again, someone had to pay the price. Only, they'd have to do it all by themself.

"Lima Company." the Gunny said aloud. He faced us all with zero regret in his eyes. "You will go on. You will live to fight another day. I'm staying here to see it gets done."

"Gunny," Haze spoke softly, "I'll stay here with you."

"No, you're getting out of here, Private. All of you are." he said looking at as many faces as he could. "Only one person needs to stay, and we need as many people fighting as we can, so just carry on, okay?"

The emotion started to show, now audible in the Gunnery Sergeant's voice.

But he quickly shoved it away. "Only one has to stay, right? That's the Doctor's orders. Might as well be the Gunny. Hell, I'm getting too old for my liking anyway." he finished with a hearty smile, that typical jest outshining his eyes.

But none of us were humored as so many times before. We were simply stunned that anyone could so readily sacrifice themself for a greater cause.

I took a deep breath. I almost couldn't handle it.

"Just go." he said one last time. "Remember me later."

He turned from us and faced the signal bunker—where the Covenant hordes would inevitably flow from.

I stole a glance at the Doctor's tablet. The last arc from a plasma torch winked off and relinquished itself to the darkness of the Lambda Complex. Shadowy, blurred figures pushed down the door and spilled forth. The ravenous flood gushed through the corridors, spreading into all the tributaries of the Lambda Complex like an inexorable plague, eventually leading into the Core room.

Gunny Smith removed the heavy helmet from his thick spacesuit and unsheathed his shotgun from his rucksack, placing it on the ground at his feet. He then got his Battle Rifle ready, inserting a fresh clip, smiling as he sent it home to the receiver. Smiling steadfast as if returning home from a two-year tour, smelling his wife's cooking, watching his children laughing in the fields of his estate, which ever planet that was on.

I took a quick look at the Doctor's tablet once more. Was this really about to happen?

The arms of the collective monster effused into the offices, closer and closer, through the tent. From this distance, through this heavy suit, I could hear them coming. The sick, twisted music.

The creatures of the Covenant were here. The flood gates were opened. Bodies pinged against the metal walls just beyond as they boxed one another out to be the first for a taste of human blood. The Gunny stood straighter, holding his head up high and proud as he spoke into TEAMCOM, uttering into our ears:

"In the Draco III resistance, it was considered a high honor to face down a Covenant death squad. You'd be remembered because you did your soldierly duty. The _highest_ honor was to look them in the eye and smile right before the grunts and jackals tore you to pieces."

Through the small opening of the steel door, I could see them: razor-sharp teeth, tensed claws and unruly screams filling the bottleneck of the signal bunker. Their crazy eyes met the Gunny's as they scrambled for him.

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was powerless to stop it.

They shot forth with blinding speed. The Gunny barely had any time to react, but nonetheless boldly poured burst after burst into the aliens through his 3x scope. Scores of them fell over in heaps, piling up in the small chamber...but they kept coming. "Give 'em hell, Gunnery Sarge." I whispered only to myself.

I was him for a moment, moved by such valor, such courage. But inspiring as it was to watch, it was saddening all the more as his last stand progressed on and on. It couldn't go on forever. Suddenly, I didn't want to watch anymore, already knowing what his end fate would be. I felt sickened...

A team of Elite assassins pushed aside the grunt-jackal pile of corpses with ease and ran straight for him. Gunny Smith picked up his shotgun off the floor slowly and deliberately, saying, "I'm smilin', Marines."

He pumped slug after 8-gauge slug, thunderous echoes emanating all around, the Gunny going down in a blaze of pure glory. He racked up Elite after Elite, until the overwhelming mass of the death squad was finally upon him.

Then, the Lambda Core disappeared from my sight in a brilliant white flash.


	22. Far Side of the Moon

**Far Side of the Moon**

A thousand cries rang in my head.

The sudden, luminous flash had forced me to close my eyes.

I opened them and the noise instantly went away along with the intense light.

The view had changed in front of me. Gone were the harsh lights of manmade facilities and gone was the omniscient darkness of the mines. No more tunnels and twists and turns, mystery and lore lurking at any corner.

We all stood together in a broad, plagioclase plain. The view all around was grey-white, rocky in some places and smooth dust in others. An ankle-deep layer of silvery, talc-fine powder swirled around our space boots and was thrown into the ambiance from the instantaneous displacement of about a hundred people—combatants and non-combatants—all indistinguishable and anonymous behind polarized face plates. The far away star lit up the ground like a mirror.

A pleasant, pale glow reflected upwards. Mountains at the far horizon spewed molten chunks high in the air like otherworldly fountains.

"We're on the moon, Marines." Kleiner broadcasted. "Zagosa Majoris."

I looked up: black was a sky in front, vast and open. A wonder of colors filled the void.

As if hive-minded, the group reluctantly began walking on Doctor Kleiner's lead.

We carried on for miles. A splash of stars dotted the dark velvet of space. One-sixth gravity and power assist made it easy despite this perilous terrain. The barks, the screams and howls, and the humming of machines had long since faded from my mind, but something else inside still shouted—slowly dying. Everything had changed. We had skirted death once again. Only this time, we were thousands of miles away from any danger. The change was welcomed, though the silence and stillness of space was somewhat disconcerting after everything that had transpired.

I stammered along with the pack as we traveled with the rotation of the moon, which was perpendicular to that of Zagosa Prime's own spin axis. The mechanical whir of my oxygen pump began to still my thoughts the longer I walked. I looked on ahead, dreaming of Gunnery Sergeant Smith faithfully leading us at the point of formation as usual.

Throughout the moonscape, trench-like troughs or impassable rock faces loomed over the area around our snaking path. Up and over gentle foothills we marched. Wisps of dust curled around us as we carried on. A small outcropping of rock stood higher than the surrounding bluffs. I broke free of the group for a moment and stood upon its highest vantage point, scoping the terrain, sighting it out for miles. Pockmarked plains stretched on until they terminated at the horizon, perhaps spanning even farther beyond my sight. Sheer cliffs and unfathomable craters dotted an area far to my East, casting out as far as the eye could see. The terrain was either jet-black or high silver, deep shadows or harsh light. A treacherous and humbling domain.

I caught up to the rear of the group as Kleiner and Lawson ventured further on. The foothills soon settled into a downward slope and lead into a shallow basin. The ground was cracked and split, possibly the sign of a water channel residing here eons ago. A vertical drop loomed ahead, merely five meters down, giving way to a field of high stones and helmet-sized potholes, an isolated meteor shower site. We landed through, traversing another kilometer. For some unknown reason, a wave effect progressed through the line of people and I sidestepped ten meters to the left, navigating out of the path leading into a deep trough—which eventually became a profound ravine, its destination a mystery as it faded into bottomless shadow. On this plateau we strolled. Mountains that were once far were looming closer, humiliating us, their molten lava the only color to behold.

The silence of hard vacuum did nothing to bring ease as we passed under the shadow of a lunar precipice towering high above our heads. The light was shunned away for a moment as we passed under. Far below this ceiling was a gap in the path, which upon more time and decreasing distance became a sheer hundred-meter plunge into darkness. We hugged a wall, traversing a slim ledge leading up to this drop. Around us, a shadowed panorama with monolithic stones thrusted up from the depths like foresaken souls desparate to escape their eternal purgatory. Single file, we pushed off and floated over the yawning chasm. Fresh sawtooth boot treads beat each other up as Marine after Marine after scientist jumped across and landed into more dust on the other side.

Far ahead in the light gleamed a crater of glass. I looked on and caught the inside of the far rim—half in shadow. The depression was lined with the green glitter of Iridium and the pinkish-red hue of shocked quartz. We pressed closer until we were face to face with the crater's ledge. It dove deep into the ground. Lying far below was a tremendous object of exact shape, impossible to have been left there by the will of the cosmos. Vaguely rectangular, its only camouflage was the wide, deep-shadowed basin it lied in. At the far end of this lengthy block, I could make out a series of circular rings—the fluting of rocket engines—conical in shape. A UNSC starship, medium tonnage by my estimation. We peered over the rim of the immense bowl. The parabolic walls of the canyon tapered into the wide floor.

"Follow me." said the Doctor.

He pushed off the ledge, gliding softly down into shadow. We followed.

After about a moment of one-sixth freefall, I landed gently into a thick layer of dust.

Vision was totally obscured after the gentle impact.

The entire group waited a moment for the haze to dissipate. I then looked up. Only the faintest rays of cosmic light crested the lip of the crater, a half-halo materializing above us once the dust rose enough. I activated my night vision and panned around the bottom. Directly ahead was the ship. A few paces away and we collectively came face to face with this Titanium-clad hulk. Painted on the side in white, block lettering was THERMISTICLES.

Doctor Kleiner held up a remote transceiver between his thumb and forefinger, activating the device. The Starboard airlock slid open on command, a slice of light pouring out onto the ground. A mix of Marines and scientists began to enter single file, cycling through by the dozen. I looked up into the sky again and was struck by the sight of Zagosa Prime coming into view inside the crater's wide cone of visibility. A flush of red tickled the distant planet's horizon, slowly enlarging as it rotated my way. Full view would occur in a matter of minutes.

More and more Marines and scientists piled in while I lingered in silence, my gaze glued straight up. All the vertebrae in my neck began to ache, the pain intensifying the longer I watched.

"Curious to see the aftermath?" the Doctor's voice emanated through my headset. He had a strange tone. He posed the question as if the dying world was a specimen under study rather than a place we called home.

I looked over to him as I answered. He was already looking at me, though both of our visors were polarized nearly an opaque-black.

"Yeah."

He strolled towards me, taking a stance by my side. "I am too."

A moment of silence lingered as more of Zagosa Prime rotated into view. We gazed together.

"I was sorry to see Sergeant Smith go." the Doctor said flatly, simply. "He seemed like an excellent Marine, and an even better person."

"Yeah."

I had only known the Gunnery Sergeant for a few weeks, and I found myself readily agreeing with Kleiner. The realization hit home that I would never see the man again. I glanced sidelong at the Doctor, wishing I knew how to thank him for everything he'd done. Because of his genius, Lima Company cheated death.

It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever is.

_We still lost too many Marines down there._

And losing Gunny Smith was still unthinkable.

"Thanks for getting us outta there when you did. I'm not sure I could've handled seeing him go down."

"It was the least I could do for Lima Company." Kleiner replied as the sky tinged redder by the second. "You know, I spent a lot of time down there in the mines of that planet. I hardly got to enjoy its surface. What's left of it looks peaceful from here. But I suppose all that will soon perish as well."

More of the Covenant's bombardment began to show as we waited, until after another moment the entire view was blood-red.

It now waned three-quarters full. Zagosa Prime had died.

Nevermore would it be the green and blue and white that I once knew.

I remembered about a decade ago reading an article in _Popular Science _that terraforming scientists and environmental engineers formed a galaxy-wide community of practice dealing with the after-effects of glassed worlds. Though no physical progress had been made, it was widely theorized and widely accepted that such a world could be resurrected with enough resources, talent and time. Hydrogen, the most ubiquitous element in the universe, could be converted to vast and useable amounts of drinking and irrigation water. Phytoremediation had also come a long way over the centuries—even the synthetic plants were on par with the organic variety and the amount of toxic substances in the crust could be removed with incredible efficiency. Even the casing of glass over the surface could be harvested and used to build up a very robust fiber optic communications infrastructure, provided courtesy of the Covenant.

Only the surface was destroyed. The planet within was still churning.

But there was never any time to undertake such efforts with the War going on. Just another concept on the drawing board, waiting. Even if the human race was victorious and rebuilding commenced, it would take a decade to fully revive a dead world.

Now, Zagosa Prime was completely aflame, bright as an elderly star in its death throes. Piercing through the scorched terrain were pinpricks of glittering light—mellow glass that encased the planet's fair crust like a Hell-razed pincushion. Rust-yellow plumes of sulfuric acid seeped through prematurely-opened rift vallies that resided in what used to be blue oceans of diversity. Hydrochloric acid and silicon dioxide dust clouds surged up from the redirected flow of magma chambers, molten fountains spewing straight up into the troposphere and higher. In slow motion, the plumes rose high into the upper reaches of the Zagosa Prime's gravity field, huddled around the Van Allen radiation belt for hundreds of miles, then slowly sank back into atmosphere toward their eventual destination in the glass.

A halo of Titanium dust shimmered even farther out as chunks of debris collected outside the planet's gravity well. UNSC warships—floating dead hulks—most of them disintegrated remnants of a once-proud fleet.

Hundreds of violet specks surrounded the entirety from pole to pole. Covenant warships—they'd nearly finished their orbital bombardment.

But a few areas remained. And one such unblemished patch was right on the edge, right on the equator, now rotating into center view. Just a particle in relation to the overall mass of Zagosa Prime, it still registered to the Doctor and I as the Foreclay Outpost even from this far away.

Suddenly, a titanous fireball sprang out of this tiny fortress that once staved a Covenant brigade. The light from the colossal detonation shone tenfold brighter than any of the Covenant fire that smothered the planet. Then massive patch of planet shot skyward just outside ground zero. In perfect silence, the concussion roiled with eternal anger and cascaded higher into the stratosphere. We watched it all in slow motion from our vantage, the fiery ballad it was.

The Foreclay Outpost, the mines, all the secrets below were no more.

"Seems we've all lost something down there." Doctor Kleiner gaited closer and tapped me once on the shoulder. "Gunnery Sergeant Smith was a brave man for what he did. He'll never be forgotten, Private Pennington."

Kleiner turned and headed towards the airlock.

I caught up with him and we cycled through together. A maze of hydraulic and high pressure lines crawled over the walls, serving to tame the volatile relationship of atmosphere inside and vacuum outside. A hiss of air permeated the chamber and a cluster of green OLEDs pulsed at the entry way. The inner door opened and we stepped through, the last of humans to have taken up residence at Zagosa Prime.

I removed the helmet that had began to feel stuffy. The air inside the ship had more volume and wasn't stale like that of my suit.

I navigated the wide corridors on his lead, past Engineering, skirting by the Med Shed and up a ladder shaft. In a moment, we arrived at the Command Deck. All ancillary systems were kept on standby, waiting for authorized personnel to wake them up again from a long hibernation. Only mission-essential systems were online from what I could gather. The halls were bathed in dim halogen light. Doors opened only manually with hand cranks. Finally, Doctor Kleiner, Captain Lawson and a few Marines and scientists entered the bridge. I waited outside in the main hallway and took a seat on the deck. I checked what provisions I still had on my person. My entire water supply had been used up while at the mining facility. I felt starved but I confirmed long ago that my last rations were used up. A few minutes went by as I rested there, my weapons and my gear sprawled out on the deck beside me.

"Anyone feel like hitting up the galley?"

There was no reply from anyone, just a group of worn out faces briefly regarding my own before retreating into whatever it was that occupied their thoughts. Surely the lot of them grieved for Gunny and the others we lost along the way. Maybe they were too fatigued of grief itself, too tired to think. There was no way to tell.

I took out a field cleaning kit from one of my cargo pockets, then brought my rifle to bear and began breaking it down.

I had gotten to removing the bolt when the bridge hatch opened and Doctor Kleiner appeared through, his sunken face peering into the hallway. "Can anyone operate a communications console? Even basic theory of operations would be of great help to us."

"I can." I responded, instantly losing interest of my weapon's upkeep.

"Are you qualified?"

"Communications is my primary MOS, Doctor."

"Are you comfortable with ship-borne equipment?"

"UNSC employs common systems interfacing throughout ship and shore inventories. I should be okay."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes sir, Doctor."

"Perfect. Follow me, Private."

I slowly got up, shaking off the aches that plagued my bones from all the physical stress I'd endured. I followed him into the Command Deck with a pile of weapon pieces in my hands. Captain Lawson was at the command console, a stately leather-wrapped chair. Two holo-pedestals flanked him, one of which was occupied by the holographic representation of a smart A.I.. I looked past the slew of consoles all around the periphery and towards the view port in front as Kleiner directed me to a station at the Portside bulkhead.

"Please take your station." Kleiner said with a slow gesture.

I got situated with the controls as I sunk into a chair. The controls weren't instantly familiar, so I activated a tutorial on-screen. Captain Lawson approached me and placed on hand on the high-backed chair I occupied. I customarily stood up and snapped to attention.

"At ease, Private. Your name?"

"Private Pennington, sir."

"Nice to have you aboard. Thank you for volunteering to take up a position that an executive officer normally would. Your service on my boat is a tremendous undertaking. Are you up for it?"

"Yes sir."

"Your company leader, Gunnery Sergeant Smith, proved himself to be worthy of the UNSC Medal of Honor. I'll see to it personally that he and his family receive the appropriate honors."

The Naval Captain slowly turned to man his station. In an instant, he stopped and turned again to face me. His brow was arced in curiosity, studying me. "Ever heard of the Cold War?"

A wry smile then appeared.

"Vaguely, sir. I remember some history on it back at University."

"What did you remember about that War? What stood out to you?"

"I think I got out of it what most other people did. Two superpowers epitomized what the definition of deterrence was, sir. A global power struggle on Earth. Back in the twentieth century if I recall correctly.

"True, but I think too many people don't understand. Too many people think it was just a power struggle. It was much more. I'd like to steal a moment of your time, if you don't mind."

"Well, you are the Captain, sir."

"The winner of that War would be the influence of the world. The other's influence would eventually fade. It's a very similar prospect for the outcome of _this _War. Because like the Cold War, the war with the Covenant is not just a contest of power. We're not fighting them to assert dominance in the universe, and neither are they. This is a contest of wills. We don't meet in open battlefields at pre-determined dates. They're taking us down. And from what information I'm privy to, we're only beginning to attempt the same. It's a war of attrition spanning multiple fronts: spies, covert assassination operations, and cryptographic communications...your job now. Only back then, we all shared the same world. Thermonuclear warfare was not a winning option for _anyone._"

"Yes sir."

"And did you know that at the height of the Cold War, there were still friendly lines of communication between the Russian and American generals?"

"No sir, I didn't."

"A few generals on either side respected one another so much, that open dialogue was still maintained. Some suspect peace was maintained more through the back channels than any other avenue. Kind of makes you respect military leaders more than their commanding politicians."

"I never cared much for the political aspects, sir."

He leaned in closer with a smirk. "Me neither. And most don't know that Soviet generals confessed something to their American counterparts when the War was in full swing. Do you know what it was they confessed?"

"No."

"They told their American rivals that they knew the war was over for them once they understood what kind of military the Americans possessed."

"Why would they do that? I thought the Russians lost because they bankrupted themselves."

"No. It was not because the American military was more powerful. It wasn't because the Americans had a stronger economy or because their quality of life was better. It wasn't that American society was a freer one, either. It was because of the _people _in the American military, Private. Soviet Generals said that as soon as they looked at America's enlisted force, they knew they were already defeated. They probed all American media for intel, tuning into their television and radio channels, reading their newspaper articles, looking at what privates and airman and petty officers and gunnery sergeants were doing day to day. The Soviet generals _knew _that these American men and women were doing more than what they could get even their young _officers_ to do. An enlisted force outshining your officer corps. Such a force cannot be reckoned with."

"I see, sir."

"This is why we will ultimately win, because of units like Lima Company, because of people like Sergeant Smith." Captain Lawson glanced out the view port and smiled. "And now this day comes in their sacrifice. With the Transit in our possession, we will turn the tide of this War, Private Pennington. They'll see what Humans are capable of. And their Elite generals will be that much closer to admitting defeat when it happens." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "Now man that console, Private Pennington, and be at ease."

"Aye sir!"

I took my seat and swung around to face the communications console with pride. My resolve was renewed.

Captain Lawson and his impromptu staff of scientists and enlisted Marines ran procedural diagnostics and gradually brought the ship to operational status. I looked at what was going on around me and tried to remember the last time I had any time to myself. I felt incomplete. I retrieved the sweat-stained notepad from one of my cargo pockets and started to write.


	23. Interlude with an Epitaph

**Interlude with an Epitaph**

_Here lies Zagosa Prime  
__Mighty jewel in pitch-black sky  
__Consumed by fire, bathed in flame  
__She waits for life to spring again_

_For Enemy cometh, Enemy came  
__Searching for what was locked away  
__Hunting and killing and burning the lands  
__All of the blood is on their hands_

_Day and night, we came to blows  
__Fighting for life, fighting for home  
__Omega the fortress, stout as steel  
__Day and night, endured their zeal_

_But something was off, something ordained  
__Why was vic'try so simply attained?  
__The mine held secrets, dark as night  
__Strange devices with fearful might_

_Scientists delved, geniuses played  
__Alien artifact showed a way  
__The power to vanish, power to fly  
__Depart existence, blink of an eye_

_We must run, we must flee  
__Another day holds victory  
__Gather up strength, use the device  
__Innocent citizens paid the price_

_Gunnery Sergeant, so bold and brave  
__Forfeits himself, survivors saved  
__Selfless deed, transcendent-sublime  
__Forever monument, annals of time  
__Nuclear fire, so brilliant-bright  
__Fitting lament for warriors' spite  
_

_Hard to go on, hard to restore  
__What faith we had in our endeavor  
__But we will forge on and win the War  
__Taking the fight to their front door!_


	24. Revelations

**Revelations**

I tucked away the sweat-stained notepad into my cargo pocket. I felt somewhat whole again. I felt safe and I could relax—inside a Titanium castle on the far side of the moon. A miniature army of scientists who'd already outsmarted the Covenant and Marines who had fought harder were my company today.

Though, I didn't feel I could grasp whether or not our gains outweighed our losses.

Nine of the best men and women I knew would no longer fight alongside us.

I caught a reflection of myself in one of the monitors: a smear of eyes, nose, and mouth. I discerned an evil grin from it as I imagined the many different fates a Covenant force could meet its end as they simply disappeared, how thankful entire beseiged colonies would be.

I looked around the bridge, still smiling. White lights flooded the room from above. LEDs blinked on/off among a smorgasbord of consoles. Technicians and Marines were everywhere, configuring the _Thermisticles _for what could very well be its maiden voyage to Reach. Most of the ship's occupants bustled with purpose, though my communications duties were somewhat superfluous for the moment. I got to slow down and take everything in for a change. Captain Lawson sat in his chair, a rich swath of antique leather, richly conditioned with an oily sheen. A plethora of controls dotted the armrests. And by his side was the holo-pedestal in which a figure was standing—floating in mid air. I had never seen one before until now, only heard of them.

I stood up and stretched. Soon my shift would end. Another Marine would relieve me of my post and hopefully their shift would be more eventuful than mine.

The doctor was at the forefront of the bridge, standing face to face with the thick window. His reflection in the backlit pane was nearly a mirror of himself: a tall, thin man with a balding scalp and thick glasses. His face was partly sunken in, though the strong cheekbones and large, intelligent eyes obscured the true age of this remarkable man. A fellow scientist was beside him. Together, the brilliant minds conversed on matters of all sorts. A moment of pure concentration went by on his part before catching my own reflection behind his. He turned to me.

"Private Pennington."

"Doctor, do you know who is to replace me at the comm. console?"

"I'm not sure, Private. I believe it's best to consult your NCOIC for that."

"How long have you had an AI, Doctor?"

"Ever since we discovered the device in the mines. She's been a priceless asset. She deciphered alien encoding for us. Without her…why, we would not have accomplished all this."

"What's her name?"

"Rosetta."

"I think your replacement is on deck, Private." the Doctor gesturing past my shoulder.

I turned around and there was Haze. "See you later, Doctor Kleiner."

"Private..." the Doctor said, stopping me short. I turned to face him. "Before you go, I'd like to speak to you alone, ok?"

"Sure thing."

"Wait for me in the officers' galley."

I was just about to walk over to Haze and when Amy entered the bridge. She paused at the entrance and assessed the room. I felt the usual intimidation by her mere presence, but the obligation I felt to thank her overwhelmed my insecurities.

She sensed my approache and looked directly at me. "Hello, Chief, I know how close you and the Gunny were. I'm really sorry. I just wanted to—"

Before I could go on, she threw up a hand. The same hand she gave me back in the Omega Wing. The same hand I got when I tried to be of consolation after some of the most brutal combat we ever experienced as a team. Now, as Lima Company subsisted in total safety yet again, she didn't need or want or care for my words.

"I'll be fine." she said and walked toward the Captain.

I shook off the encounter and met Haze on the way out. He was chuckling under his breath.

"Man, did she chastise you with that one! Good going, Hemingway."

"It's Shakespeare."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've noticed her become even more of a loner since you came aboard Lima Company." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Relax, man. You and her...cut from a different block. You couldn't _hope_ to relate to her, bro. Stop trying to get on her level."

"I guess you're right. She's a Spartan, I'm a grunt. Fine with me."

"Yeah. Now you're getting it. Hey check out this helmet art I got." Haze hoisted his helmet to eye level.

It was a magician with a black velvet coat and top-hat. One of the arms was outstretched towards me with an Ace of diamonds protruding from the sleeve. The other arm was pulled inward, cradling a jet-black ball, our prized Transit. Above the art read Lima Company Illusionists.

"I like it. You my replacement?"

"Communications, right?"

"Right over there. I warmed up the seat for ya."

"How long is the shift?"

"Eight standard hours."

"Then I'm glad you warmed it for me."

"Take care." I spun on a heel and headed out of the command deck and left for the galley.

After a few turns, I found myself at the entrance to the meeting place Kleiner requested. Sub-zero refrigerators and microwave ovens lined one entire side of the room. The ceiling was low with exposed venting. Long cafeteria-style tables consumed the center. I grabbed some crackers from a nearby serving basket—stale.

"Ready for some training?" I heard Kleiner say as he entered the mess hall.

"What's going on?' I asked.

"I'm training a select few Marines with the Transit. There may come a time when I'm unable to use it."

"What do you mean, unable?"

"If something catastrophic should happen, you won't be confused when it comes time to operate it. We're ensuring success if we prepare ourselves for anything."

"Okay, do we train here?"

"Yes, I'm going to give it to you now. Do not deviate from my instructions."

"Okay." I stepped closer to the Doctor. He held the black ball aloft at shoulder height.

I wrapped both hands around it. Other than coolness, I felt nothing else. He let it go. It was heavier than I expected. Though the size of a grapefruit, it handled like a bowling ball. It felt incredibly dense; suspicion of indestructibleness came over me. I could see my reflection on its surface. My face distorted with the activity inside, crawling and oozing with a darkness black as space. I rotated it around in my hand. Colors came into view, contrasted nicely against the jet-black. There were reds, blues, greens, and yellows; arrowhead shapes and dots.

"Wave your hand over the Transit."

I complied, swayed a palm over its surface and an image came to life as if surfacing from inside. It was the room. The galley was on display inside the Transit.

"Now," Doctor Kleiner said, "You can populate the display with organic and inorganic objects if you desire. We will move that chair from on top of that table to the hall outside, about ten meter's distance. There should be a red arrow symbol somewhere. Do you see it?"

"Yes."

"Touch it and hold down. Drag it to the chair and let go."

I did so. I took the red arrow and placed it on top of the plastic chair, then let it go. The icon hovered over the chair. "Okay, done."

"Now, look at the yellow circle off to the side…the topmost one. Tap it once.

I did so and the view expanded, revealing more of the _Thermisticles' _interior. It had everything mapped. I could see outside the galley and into the nearby hallway—where the chair's destination would be. "Done."

"Press and hold the red arrow again. It now turns blue and you can drag it to your destination. Let it go when you are done."

I took hold of the chair once more, resting lifelessly atop the table. I placed a finger on it, dragged its blue vector behind the hatch of the galley, and let it go.

The chair disappeared. A muffled clattering came an instant later just behind the bulkhead, the chair falling to the deck from mid air. My heart fluttered with adrenaline. I just teleported something. For a moment, I was God.

"Very good, Private Pennington. Very good. Now we will practice multi-target relocation."

"I'm going to transit more than one object?"

"Yes. How does four chairs sound?"

"Sounds great, Doctor. I'm ready."

"Then choose your four. Place a red arrow over each, zoom out to see your end objective, then tap that point in space twice. All four should relocate to your desired set of coordinates."

Four arrows, one destination. Two taps and they all vanished from the galley. A quartet of plastic rattles rang in report on the other side. It was easier than I thought. But I wondered…how much energy did that consume? It was said that it took all of a nuclear reactor's might just to teleport Lima Company and the others from the Lambda Core. And it still wasn't enough. One person was left behind. I closed my eyes and tried not to picture the Gunny being devoured by hungry Jackals.

"Doctor," I asked. "How long can this thing keep teleporting?"

"See for yourself. Preview, if you will, teleporting the entire _Thermisticles_ to any location in space. Zoom out as far as you can and you will see just how far the Transit will allow you to relocate with the energy currently on tap."

I grabbed a hold of the ship with the touch of a finger. The red arrow stuck to its graphical representation in accordance. I hit the zoom out icon and expanded—far into space—out of the depression the _Thermisticles _hid in, fading from the moon and fiery Zagosa Prime in the distance, until the system's star became a speck. But it wasn't that far in the celestial scheme of things. I could maybe teleport this boat and all the people inside a few AUs distant. Then it would have to be powered up by the ship's reactor again for another transit. It was power-hungry indeed; understandable, though, because it was a miracle—a gift from God.

"Um, Doctor?" I said nervously.

"Yes?"

"How do I let go? What if I don't want to teleport it into deep space?"

"Simply wave your hand over it as if you were waking it up."

"Thank you." I let out a sigh of relief as the 'preview' washed away.

A strange sight caught me eye in the black sphere: a faint, purple glow—pulsating on and off like an interstellar pulsar. Why wasn't I trained on this portion?

"Doctor, what is this purple glow in the Transit?"

"Don't touch that! We don't know what it does yet. In fact, it's better we never know. We can teleport and that's all that matters."

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it…right? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Precisely."

"Okay, don't touch the purple dot," I said to myself. "Got it."

"That concludes training of the Singular-Point Field Effect Manipulator. Do you have any questions?"

"I guess not. You explained it well."

"Do you feel you've mastered it? If asked to use it in a combat situation, do you feel you could use it with confidence?"

"Yes, Doctor. I believe I can."

"Good. Because there may be a time when the need arises."

"Who else will you teach it to?"

"Not many. It's better if only a select few people know how to use it."

"Why only a few?"

"It's as the old saying goes, Private: Absolute power corrupts absolutely. No chances can be taken with such a device…even from our own."

I couldn't help but fluster at the Doctor's last words. It was harrowing to think that any human would use this against another. At least when there was a galactic war with the Covenant. "I see. Well, I won't let you down, Doctor Kleiner. I'll use it to the best of my abilities—"

"—And?"

"And make sure that I don't get greedy."

"Very good. If you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to contact me. Get some sleep. You've had a rough few days."

"Thanks. See you later."

I proceeded to my quarters after Kleiner exited the room. I felt a subtle thumping in my chest. Adrenaline was still lingering in my system. The walk to my bunk calmed me down enough to rest. I entered the room and immediately I slid under the covers, and I began to think. I thought about the day the human race would unite in celebration as we claimed victory against our common enemy.


	25. Castle in the Sky

**Castle in the Sky**

I left my quarters. The air around me was a pure haze, almost opaque. I walked through this mist, not knowing where I'd arrive. Had the air purifiers gone faulty? Overcondensation was common with older, less efficient condensers.

I could see clearly for about one meter, no more.

Many steps I took until faint voices barely penetrated the thick mist. If memory served me correctly, I'd be entering the galley in just a few paces. Sounds guided me moreso. I could hear laughter, giggling, and playful screams of children not far ahead. The fog grew thin and visibility increased. I approached a clearing and there was enough light that I could see my hands. They were small like a child's, and as I walked closer to the source of light and laughter, I could see outlines of familiar faces. I could see my home. This was my neighborhood. I looked around: my friends were playing in the street.

At the end of the road, a dear friend of mine threw a pigskin. It spiraled through the air to another. He caught it and spiked it to the gravel like heroes of his would at real games. The girls sat on a lush patch of grass across the street drinking homemade lemonade. They pointed and gossipped and giggled, doing what girls of their age do. But one girl…she wasn't with the others. She was out in the street with fresh scrapes and bruises on her knees and elbows. She was different. She liked to play. She was often more skilled than some of the guys. She wasn't taller or stronger, but she was cunning and tenacious. She had potential.

She was the new girl in town on vacation visiting her relatives. She'd wandered to our street looking for fun and games. I didn't know her well, but she felt familiar as if I should've known her at some point in my past. Some resented her for being able to outclass them in their favorite pastime. I hadn't met her yet. I remembered the intimidation I felt when I first saw her play. I wasn't embarrassed by it like the others. I never once resented her abilities.

One of my neighbors grasped the football he just spiked and threw it back to his friend. The intended receiver reached for it, but this girl dashed in front of him and snatched it out of the air. She held it close as she landed, not losing a stride as she picked up speed. The chase was on.

He matched her pace and followed her line, but where she lacked breakaway power, she made up for it in wit. She was very agile…

She shifted, zigzagged, stopped on a dime, and she threw him more off balance the faster they went. In an instant, he lost traction on one foot and nearly fell on his side. She pumped her legs again and left him far behind, glancing rearward with a smirk. All he could do was slap a hand to the ground in frustration. "You're not that fast!"

I chuckled to myself. If she wanted that ball, it was hers, regardless of how fast she was. No one was willing to give her the credit she deserved, though. Having her on your team just meant you were more likely to win, that was all. She was a decent athlete, nothing more. No one conversed with her, talked about things other than football with her. I thought differently. She had a fire that I respected. I hoped she'd never lose it.

Now, she was too far away for the boy to even hope catching her. She enacted her own celebration ritual and thumber her nose at her rival. She caught my admiring eye from far away and smiled.

I looked towards the void I entered this world through. The troubled reality of the universe was back that way. The hearsay of colonial dissidents and the spook stories of Covenant weren't in this dream.

I had my own castle in the sky. I was safe.

I would live in this dream until it ended.

The boy eyed the new girl with envy. As she danced in her own private end zone, I noticed a couple at the far end of the street. They were husband and wife on a stroll. I had never seen them before, possibly neighbors from a different community. The weather was nice today and brought out a lot of people I'd never seen, but something was odd about them. They way they walked hand in hand didn't seem natural for either of them. They were close together but distant, and they paid particular mind to this new girl—pointing and nodding at her discretely.

But one of them gasped in shock. I looked just in time to see her on the ground in a cloud of dust. My neighbor and friend had pushed her down to the ground as she celebrated. I felt embarrassment of our friendship as he took the ball away from her loose grip and trotted off. He obtained his revenge in a shameful way. He also thought he got the best of her. He was wrong.

As he reveled in triumph, she pushed herself up and chased after him. The stealth she exuded was remarkable. He didn't know she was coming until all her weight slammed into him from behind, knocking the ball loose. Dazed, he looked for her but it was too late. She was gone in a flash with the ball. He was more furious than ever and ran like the wind.

Again, she was too distant.

He placed his hands on his hips and breathed heavily. What was once an angry and determined look on his face was now one of acceptance and defeat. He was tired and frustrated. He wasn't going to have it his way today. She was going to win, and him nodding respect to her and turning away confirmed that.

She stood tall and alone at the far end of the road. I took a chance and ran over to her as the street crowd began to dwindle. "Hey, that was nice. I think that's the first time that has ever happened here."

"Thanks, Blake."

"You know my name?"

"I might be better at sports than these guys, but I still hang with the girls."

She dropped the ball at her side and brought her hands to bear in front of her face. Her palms were skinned and bloodied, likely stinging.

"Yeah, are you ok? That fall you had looked pretty nasty."

She took a second to ponder the question, but instead of replying she just waved me off. She bent down for the ball and walked away.

"What's your name?" I shouted.

"Amelia."

I never saw her again.

Alone, I looked around. The mysterious couple was already walking from whence they came, never looking back. Everyone was gone except me.

That was the last I ever saw of the girl from Beta Hydrii. The only thing I knew of where she came from was that her colony had vast continents with long beaches.

All the houses lining the street started to lose color. Red brick and white concrete began to fade to grey-white, exactly like the fog slowly approaching again. The laughter was entirely silent. The world felt empty. There was nothing more to see or do or feel from a time nearly drowned out by a new life filled with war. The dream itself was ushering me out. I began to accept that it was time to face the reality awaiting me again. I turned and proceeded into the heaviest patch of fog, which now felt more of a home than this place I visited all too briefly. Strange, but true.

My next sight was that of the white ceiling above my bunk. It was low and confining. The heavy feeling of waking eyelids wasn't upon me after a dream so vivid. I was instantly awake. I rolled over and hopped onto the floor, feeling the need to cleanse.

I walked down the corridors with a towel around my waist, shower shoes on my feet, and liquid soap in my hands. The air was cold as it hit my bare chest. My arms reacted with goose bumps. I rounded the corner and entered the shower room, walking into a wall of steam at the doorway. The sound of purifiers and water flowing through deionizers was the only sounds to be heard.

Usually the shower rooms were fully occupied and had a lot of voices. There was only water crashing into ceramic tiles. Once through the first wall of vapor, I saw Amy standing naked under a shower head.

Her body was well-defined, but not what I'd imagined. She could pass for an ordinary female, even with the amazing feats she'd accomplished still fresh in my mind. The water flowed from her short, brown hair, down the sharp line of her jaw, cascading into the hollow of her neck, then pouring like a waterfall as it rounded her breasts. Her skin was creamy-white, almost fully pale.

She turned to let the water hit her back, coming around to face me. Our eyes met.

I realized I hadn't moved.

I saw her face for the first time and was blinded by a different kind of beauty.

"How many females are in Lima Company?" she asked. The wording was direct and so was the tone in her voice, as if I was being examined.

The sound of rushing water seemed to overpower her and I replayed her words in my head to be sure of what I just heard. She stood patiently for my response, but a gut feeling told me it would be impolite to keep her waiting. I felt she expected a quick, correct answer. "Uh, yes we have other females in Lima Company." I answered straightforwardly. "I believe there are currently fifteen other females in Lima Company."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

I forced a straight face. "I wasn't. Just curious to know who else was here."

I walked in and I snatched the towel off my waist, threw it onto a nearby bench and chose a shower stall in the most dense patch of steam. I tried not to look at her as I turned on a faucet.

She'd finished her rinsing and walked to a bench for a towel. She patted herself dry rather quickly as I started to lather. After I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I turned around and she was gone.

Once dried and clothed, I thought about where to go kill time until my shift began a half-hour from now. I wasn't hungry and I wasn't feeling social. I wanted to relive another memory more than anything else, but I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep again. For once, I was fully rested after our private war thousands of miles and minutes distant.

I felt something wasn't right, though many things weren't right. So many things in my life were in disarray. I rounded the corner in the hall and proceeded straight ahead to the bridge in order to get involved in something and keep busy. There were more technicians and Marines milling about the entrance than usual as Captain Lawson held his usual post at the command console. He looked weary and taxed. The job of a commander depended on the efficiency of his entire force. I began to wonder if there was more Lima Company could do for him.

Holmes was at my station, his fingers dancing about the console, keying commands and typing messages. I hadn't expected to see the bridge this busy so soon. For all I knew, the only matter at hand was to proceed to Reach at our own pace. Eventually get a debriefing, submit after actions reports, earn a few days rest at the finest retreat in the galaxy, and then get the usual briefings on the next mission thereafter.

I approached Holmes and knelt down to his level as he sat face to face with his console. "Hey. What's the latest?"

An absentminded Holmes replied a moment later. "…Hey. You're just in time. Sleep well?"

"Actually, yeah. Haven't slept this well in a while."

"Good. Glad you're awake because you're gonna want to see this."

"What's going on? What'd I miss?"

"I think we've finally got orders. I think we might be moving out."

"No shit, huh?" I looked at the mission clock: fifty-two standard hours had passed since we boarded the _Thermisticles_, laying dormant in her shadowy depression. "What's the word?"

"Flash Traffic, it just came in." Holmes punched in a few new commands and an Emergency Action Message appeared on his screen. The orders couldn't have been more than a minute old as I read the timestamp on the introduction transcript. Holmes keyed in further. Together, we read:

**United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission  
FLASH 097725-AΩ  
Encryption Code: **Red  
**Encoding Method: **Viterbi  
**Error correction: **Reed-Solomon  
**Public Key: **N/A  
**From:** (CODE NAME) The Smoking Gun  
**To:** (CODE NAME) World Traveler  
**Subject: **OPERATION: ISLAND HOP  
**Classification: **FOUO/Eyes Only (X-Ray Directive)

/START FILE/ DECRYPTION PROTOCOL/

**FLASH TRANSMISSION DIRECTED TO ZACOM R&D SPECIAL OPERATIONS/CC**

FLASH TRAFFIC REDIRECTED TO UNSC THERMISTICLES C2 VIA CLASS-VII ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE (ROSETTA)

**COMMENCE OPERATION: ISLAND HOP AT WILL.**

Per General Order 98.93.120, you are authorized to take command of all military personnel, operations, and installations at any MAJCOM in the target path. You are authorized with CODE-WORD CLEARANCE: LIBERATUS to review any of the following condensed material, which is now, of considerable benefit.

**DO NOT **under any circumstances head to Earth or proceed on any vector that leads to Earth unless given the scramble order.

ATTENTION: ANY BREACH OF CODE-WORD CONFIDENTIALITY IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH UNDER ARTICLE 192/FTO, UNIFORM CODE OF MILITARY JUSTICE AND THE AMENDED ARTICLES OF THE UNITED SECURITY ACTS OF 2162.

/END/

/ATTACHED FILE 1 OF 20/

March 7, 2552 (MIL CALENDAR)  
MAJCOM-to-MAJCOM Beta Priority Communiqué  
Subject: Request of ...

/END FILE/

"What the hell? Where'd the rest of the file go?" I asked as the application abruptly closed.

Holmes immediately placed his hands atop the keyboard to troubleshoot.

"Let me see."

He re-opened the messaging application. It shouldn't have closed without direct action by him, which I was sure he hadn't done. A hasty power-up could've caused a glitch, but Rosetta would've surely detected any anamolies. Before consulting her, Holmes investigated further. After a minute of searching for the message, it was quite evident what we were looking for wasn't in the inbox. Holmes opened the deleted items section next, perhaps thinking he accidentally pressed the wrong key at some point and sent our elusive file down the trash chute.

No.

"Where'd this thing run off to?"

Holmes' brow began to furrow and he leaned back in his chair to clear his head and think. After a few frustrating seconds, he bolted upright and began accessing a totally different section of his operating system. His keystrokes were light and swift with full concentration vested into this task.

"What now?" I asked.

Holmes answered me without glancing away from the screen. "There's something screwy going on and I need to find out what it might be. That was a God-damned Red-coded priority Flash addressed to, presumably, Captain Lawson. He'll not be happy if he doesn't get that message. I'm accessing the registry."

"You have access to that? The ship's registry?"

"Right now, I'm the only one who can."

"What about Rosetta?"

"What about her?"

"We could bring this up to her, see what she thinks, and she'll probably engineer a solution in half that time we could."

Holmes smirked. "Eh, maybe, but I want to try and do this myself."

"Fine, suit yourself. Just saying she's about a billion times faster than you or me."

Holmes was silent as he carried on.

Of course I might very well be as proud as Holmes in my own abilities. It was always the outsider, the detached observer, who saw the bigger picture in every situation. I'd learned this by now, and figured I'd let Holmes forge ahead out of a sense of pity.

It was odd that this console, and especially the ship's registry, wasn't monitored a thousand times per second by her. She could easily do it. Why hadn't she intervened already? Unless...she pulled the file herself. Buried it somewhere.

I turned away from Holmes and looked to her, that holographic form of hers conversing directly with the Captain. Her shoulders were squared to his, their eyes locked. She hadn't glanced at me. Why would she? That would be a dead giveaway. She knew I was here with Holmes, how couldn't she know? She likely knew what we were up to and what we humans were thinking. She'd likely calculated all the possible outcomes of our curiosity, what questions we'd ask and when.

What was Operation Island Hop?

Who was The Smoking Gun?

I knew from the moment we entered our incursions with the Covenant at the now-gone Outpost that we were just being dragged along on a wild ride. Little did I know that I'd be part of something this significant in human history—spanning the galaxy in our fight with the Covenant.

Holmes waved at me from his seat. I caught myself staring straight ahead into a blurry monitor. My vision came back into focus as he wakened me from my musings. "Hey, Zagosa to Pennington."

"Yeah, I'm here." I said.

"Something doesn't add up, Penn. There's no record of this file existing. There's no audit trail available to me. I can't get any further. It just vanished."

"Kinda like the Transit does, eh?"

"C'mon, help me out here. We're screwed if we can't recover this message."

"Alright, what do you think happened? How does a file vanish without any evidence of it vanishing?"

His brow furrowed again. "I don't know. A virus?"

"Doubtful. How long was this ship idling on the moon?"

"Probably pretty long."

"So, hypothetically, if it wasn't a virus, which Rosetta would probably know about, then what?"

"You're acting like you know something I don't."

"Not know. Just a guess."

"Well, take a guess for me, Blake."

"I think it's her."

"Rosetta?"

Holmes glanced beyond me to the command console. I could still hear her conversing with the Captain over my shoulder. They likely had a lot to discuss going forward. He swung his eyes back to me.

"You think she pulled it?"

"Who else...What else can do that?"

"Well, I suppose no one. I guess you're right. But why? I was here at this station. I received the message. I was supposed to forward it to the Captain. I've been read on to SCI."

"So, either she wanted that honor, or she deemed in a split second that it wasn't for our eyes."

"Ok, fine, but why permanently delete the freaking delivery receipt as well?"

"Because that message, Holmes, doesn't exist."

Holmes leaned back again, staring at me. He was silent for a moment.

"...What's going on here, Shakespeare?"

I glanced over my shoulder again. She was heavy into her discussions with the Captain. "I don't know, but whatever it is, it's high up there. You said it was Flash traffic at the Red level. We're not normally supposed to look at that kind of stuff unless it's read _to _us, right?"

"Sure, but we were assigned to this duty. Rosetta could've at least back-briefed me after she snatched a piece of my job away from me."

"Don't take it personal. It's just business. We're just button-pushers. No one's gonna ask an enlisted guy for his opinion. And I think she has a lot more to accomplish than us in her functions."

"Not that personal for me, Blake, but the only thing she accomplished right now is amplifying my curiosity. I'm quite tired of the two-fingered hand dragging me around by the nostrils, and I know you are too."

"What's done is done. Our heads have to be in the right place."

"What place is that?"

"Helping the Captain in any way we can. Checking on the Gunny in our downtime. Inventorying, inspection, resting up for the next mission."

"Jeez, Blake, who died and made you squad leader?"

"Your mom, alright? Now don't think too much about that file. It obviously wasn't meant for anyone but the Captain."

Holmes hunched over and nodded. "Damn, I'm tired!"

I could understand. We were just coming out of the fatigue of battle. A battle that would later define a war.

"Take off early," I said with a smile, "I got it."

"You sure? Your shift doesn't begin until another thirty minutes."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Get going. Get some shuteye."

"Thanks, man. Wake me up when something happens." he said with a grin.

"You know it." I took my seat.

Holmes exited the bridge. He wore a certain smile on the way out, met passerbys with it. It was a smile that told of pride, pain, hardship, endurance…of victory.

Our entire journey had been wrought with the highest peaks and the lowest valleys. We were ripped apart from our battles and pieced back together again by our own slivers of hope. We made it. We triumphed. We were going to finish the fight.

A light flicked on at my terminal. It was an incoming signal on a UNSC frequency. Were there friendlies about? Survivors?

A squawk came over my headset, most likely interference cutting into the channel or another listener blatantly stealing bandwidth. Maybe a solar flare or intense thermals from the ghosted Zagosa bleeding her charred soul into the external arrays. But it was on my entire receiveable spectrum...Was I being jammed? Could the Covenant have found us?

I scrutinized the tools available to me and deduced that it wasn't what I feared. Rather, I heard a human voice when I patched that signal into my headset. It was so human that I forgot it was a machine. "How are you, Private Pennington?"

I slid the microphone down to bear in front of my mouth. "I'm fine. How are you, Rosetta?"

I asked the question in reply to her own. It was the natural, curteous response. But was it a real conversation? She was surely programmed to formulate a variety of appropriate answers, but could this AI comprehend the meaning of them?

"I'm doing just fine, though being cooped up in a less than spacious network is not the hospitality I'm used to."

I wasn't overwhelmed by such a unique answer to ordinary small talk, but I was beginning understand how much versatility she possessed in her logic.

"Hopefully, we won't be in space too long." I replied.

"Yes," she replied, "not too long indeed."

"You know our destination?"

"Yes."

"Where are we headed?"

"It's classified for now, Private. You understand, I'm sure."

"Yes ma'am."

"We need to keep a tight lid on critical information at this stage in our operations. I do apologize if that weighs down on any uncertainties Lima Company might have at this time, but we must all work together in order to uphold the compartmentalization of any sensitive information we may encounter in the future. This means knowing what we're cleared to access and when."

She knew exactly what I was thinking. Only one response was the correct one. "I agree, ma'am."

"Thank you, Private. I'll have this same discussion with Corporal Holmes. Also, speaking of discussions, the Covenant is hailing us."

I spun around in my chair and found her holoform. She winked at me. I spun back around and faced my console.

It was lit up like an excited fusion coil.

I scrambled for the controls, searched for the correct sequence to locate and process the incoming signal. While I boggled in my seat, frantically looking for the correct command string at the console, Rosetta whispered, "I took the liberty of deciphering the message. Want to see?"

"Sure." I said, trying to safeguard my dignity with an even tone. "Give it to me on screen."

"Splendid!" she said playfully. She put the message on display, already in our language. It was still a chore to read with the Covenant's broken understanding of our wording, and our broken understanding of theirs as well. It was universally understood that there was no direct translation between to the two opposing lexicons. I scanned the text as best I could, trying to comprehend the misplaced verbiage and trying to sift through the flagrant use of religious connotation.

It was a simple message, maybe a few sentences long. I read it carefully…

Then I froze.

There was no possible way I could process all the emotions spinning in my head this second: joy, pain, fear, excitement, disbelief. This shouldn't be possible.

I read the scope one more time, took a deep breath, and confirmed what was on display after I attained a relative calm.

I looked around. Each person was engrossed in their task. The bridge was a beehive of information and activity, but nothing felt the same anymore. They were prepared for the next mission, while I was now consumed in the past. The Captain was seated at his own console consulting ship reports. "Captain…sir…"

"Yes, Private, what is it?" he asked, turning to me. He inched closer, his perceptive gaze reading my bewildered expression. "What have you got?"

"It's a message from the Covenant." I said as he hovered over my shoulder. I could feel the color drain in my face. The hollow of my bones felt chilled to the core.

"What in the hell." the Captain whispered. He bent lower and glanced at me, trying to regain his unassailable, commanding poise.

"What?" Doctor Kleiner asked, rushing over to my station. "Do they know our location?"

I replied…with my own disbelief equal to the gravity of the situation at hand. "It's the Gunny. The Covenant have him…and they want to trade."


	26. An Exception to the Rule

**Author's Notes and Responses: **First of all, thanks to everyone who has made it this far. I'd like to send thanks out to my reviewers. You are all so greatly appreciated. Special thanks goes out to the readers who invested their own imaginations into this story. You may recall in this story's infancy that I was taking up suggestions for characters. This was because Alone was originally intended to be a one-shot work of fiction - one chapter and only simple poetry. Needless to say, the heavy praise received and the encouragement to forge on was what drove me to create more. The momentum was so great that I literally ran out of imagination and decided to leverage others'. I'm very glad I decided this. I don't think I could have created these personas on my own. It was a learning experience, more fun than your average.

As of this story's completion, I've been writing here for more than a year and this was the first time I took a stab at an interactive story—one that users had a part in. I hope I got to flesh out your characters in a way that was entertaining and in accordance with your wishes. I think all the questions asked recently will be answered now. As Doctor Kleiner would say, "You will see."

It's been my sincere pleasure to write this story and see all your thoughts/feelings on it. Hopefully, I can make the sequel just as good, if not better. Enjoy and stay tuned.

Take care,

**-EmF**

* * *

**An Exception to the Rule**

"Absolutely unacceptable! Are you insane?"

The Doctor was furious.

All had been calm amidst the command deck a moment ago, then someone suggested that two neutral ships from either side meet halfway. We'd double cross them, steal the Gunny back as the enemy delivered terms. It was obvious Kleiner rejected that line of logic. He would take zero chance in risking the Transit, and I more than agreed with him. But we were low on options. Gunnery Sergeant Smith at least deserved a rescue attempt. I knew not one Marine would think against it.

It was instilled in every troop—the lifeblood of the UNSC—to never, _ever_ leave a fallen commrade behind.

The command deck of the _Thermisticles _had taken on a new atmosphere. Marines and civilians crowded the bridge trying to gain insight into this sudden development. This news of the Covenant broadcast had shaken everyone greatly: the Gunny, alive.

The air was still. The silence was so loud that all my thoughts and fears were defeaned. I could feel the cold of the deck plates as the distant power plant of the ship thrummed into the framework. The drone of temperature rheostats and carbon dioxide scrubbers submersed the entire hull of the _Thermisticles _in a well of radiating loneliness, for total silence followed Doctor Kleiner's statement, not just because of the harsh outburst but because we were utterly baffled. We weren't prepared for this. There were so many questions…

Why hadn't the Covenant death squad killed him? Maybe they had a sense of hope just like us. Maybe they hoped they could still find us, use the Gunny as a bargaining chip—hit our weak spot.

How did they extract him in time to avoid the overload at the Lambda Core? It was beyond my knowledge, but they were a conglomerate of technologically-advanced alien races, genocidal religious zealots united in their extermination of the human race. They would stop at nothing to ensure their goal was achieved, and that meant leveraging anything against us—even one of our own.

Humans built and owned the Foreclay Outpost and the mines beneath, and the descended into it almost as fast as its tenants. They had always been more advanced than the UNSC in every conceiveable way. With more thought on the matter, extracting the Gunny in time to avoid the nuclear blast of the Lambda Core didn't seem so ridiculous after all that had transpired and how capable a force the Covenant truly was. And they had all the motivation required of a deadly enemy.

But given the present situation, how did they think we were going to give up the Transit for one man?

I cringed at my own reasoning, how selfish and inhumane.

But there was the unavoidable, cold reality of it: whether he was alive or not, he was as good as dead. There was simply no trading this device for…_anythin_g. _Anyone. _The more I pondered the value of human life, even a single life, I realized that the Gunny would have us turn and run knowing that action would save countless more. Essentially, there was no giving up the Transit. It was fate, cold fate.

Gunny at one end of the scales of logic, Operation Island Hop at the other.

It was an endless loop of question and answer in my head, emotion and cold logic battling each other.

Cold logic won every time, but I kept finding myself searching for ways to obtain an opportune medium. More and more time went by in my musings, and I realized a happy medium was an impossibility. He had to be let go.

"Wait!" shouted Lawrence from the rear of the bridge. "How do they even know we're still here? This could all be a bluff. Gunny's probably dead. Nothing could have survived that blast, you all know that."

Lawrence was Sierra Company, now just a handful of misplaced survivors, looking for closure, rest and a chance to contact whatever family they had, wherever they were. It was easy for an outsider to let go. Not me.

"Maybe you're wrong." I said. "Maybe the Covenant got him out in time."

"C'mon, Blake. That's wishful thinking."

"It is possible. They infiltrated every sector of those mines, even with all those security measures. They could've egressed in that same amount of time. It's still possible he's alive."

"Even still, how do we know they even have him? It could be a shame to draw us out. For all they know, we're long gone. They're clutching at straws. They're desparate."

"They know we're soft." I heard Haze mumble.

"Maybe we should demand the Covenant show us the Gunny." said Holmes, clasping a fist in his other hand. "This way we'll at least know if he's truly alive."

Captain Lawson immediately mulled over the suggestion. He began whispering, conversing with Rosetta at the holo-pedestal. He nodded a few times and then turned to the rest of the bridge and all its occupants. "Good idea, Holmes. Private Pennington," he said turning to me, "prepare to send the message."

"Aye sir." I replied. From the corner of my vision, I could see Doctor Kleiner cross his arms with a facial expression I hadn't yet seen on him. It showed his palpable dissent in the matter.

Rosetta came into my headset not a moment later, offering her help. She processed where she could, translating my message into a useable form that the ugly bastards at the receiving end could understand. I basically demanded they show the Gunny to us. I gave them one of our seldom-used unencrypted video frequencies to send it over.

Moments later, organized and translated, the message was sent.

More moments elapsed, Marines and scientists, Captain Lawson and Rosetta passing the time with dull conversation or any sort of preparations. Doctor Kleiner chose solitude.

A light flashed at my console, a frequency on the K-band, the one I bestowed to the enemy. I patched it through to the main view screen. It was the Gunny.

He sat in some holding cell of sorts with the purplish walls barely illuminated from a faint overhead glow, an invisible wall of shielding between him and the creature holding the recording device that transmitted footage to us in real time. He was there, kneeling on the ground and scowling at his captors. Good 'ol Gunny. Strong 'till the end. I was so happy to see him.

Something the Gunny did puzzled me. A gesture—he repeatedly tapped a knuckle against the alien deck as he knelt, rhythmic successions. He never once took his eyes off the recorder, staring straight at us. It was probably nothing—just my musings again. Probably just passing the time, keeping his mind occupied with a beat.

Doctor Kleiner strode up to me and asked, "Is this a full-duplex feed?"

"Yes, Doctor." I replied. "I believe so."

"Then we should strike up a conversation with him to confirm this is in fact the real thing and not a recording. Keep the link going."

"Great idea." I said.

"Gunnery Sergeant!" Kleiner said into the view screen.

"_Yes._" he said, standing up.

"How are you? Are you okay?"

"_Yes, fine_. _Look, whatever these bastards have planned, it's not worth me. That Transit is worth too much to risk on one gunnery sergeant."_

"Nonsense, Gunny!" Haze said from across the bridge. "We'll figure something out."

"_I thought I told you all back in the facility to forget about me."_

"Just sit tight, Gunny!" Haze added. "Let Lima get you back!"

Kleiner shot a glare over to Haze. I wasn't sure whether it was because he unwittingly ceded authority over to a PFC or because saving the Gunny was a moot point in his opinion. But when he saw the imploring look in Haze' eyes a moment later, his expression softened, until he deliberated his own reasoning in personal silence.

All eyes went back to the viewscreen once more. We all witnessed the Gunny sigh in regret, a regret that perhaps suggested we had gotten our hopes up unnecessarily.

"Cut the connection." Kleiner ordered with a dismissive wave.

I complied and terminated the link. The Gunny's weathered face and the prison he belonged to faded from existence in the view screen.

Kleiner walked away and crashed down in the ops chair, sinking into it with a fatigue I understood. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then began rubbing the temples of his head before asking, "Play the message again, please, Private Pennington."

I did so and a deep, throaty voice of a Covenant Elite soldier resounded throughout the bridge with a roar. "This is the shipmaster of the_ Adamant Faith. _We have imprisoned your soldier. Come out from hiding and we will not destroy you. We wish to trade."

A moment of silence passed. The Doctor said, "I don't like it. Something is wrong. We can't do this. We have to proceed with Operation Island Hop. And I'm sure the Captain would agree. Sir, you have HIGHCOM directives to abide by. And the time is ticking."

Haze humbly gaited towards the Doctor. "Sir, it's the Gunny we're talking abo—"

"I _know._" Doctor Kleiner hissed. He regained his composure. "I know it's your sergeant, but we absolutely _can't _lose the Transit. It is more important than his life or my life or yours—put together. This shouldn't even be up for debate."

Kleiner instantly looked to the Captain again, who was still staring straight on into outer space through the view screen, taking it all in.

"Yes, Doctor." Haze replied, cupping his hands in a pleading manner. "But we could get in, get the Gunny, get out, and leave so fast that they wouldn't even realize what hit 'em!"

"We probably could, Private, but it's too risky. If there is just _one _slip up, _one _thing not planned for in such an operation, it could all go downhill. This isn't some operation where a few lives and some equipment is at risk...it's the whole damned War! And the Covenant knows what we're capable of with the Transit. Do you want to be the one that risks the one thing that could win the War...and then see it turned over into enemy hands? No, you wouldn't, Marine. So, we're going to play it safe. We're going to play the hand we've been dealt."

"Maybe it's time to consult the dealer." Haze mumbled, looking away.

From the background, Captain Lawson stood straighter, shoving himself away from the brass railing he was leaned up against for the last few moments. He spoke into the muted ambiance.

"I authorize Lima Company to conduct a combat search and rescue."

The Doctor cast a spellbound look over to the Captain, as if the world had gone crazy. In all actuality…it had.

We had in our possession a device that could teleport matter to unforeseen distances, we had just been informed that the Covenant had our thought-to-be-dead Gunnery Sergeant in captivity, and we were now considering going in guns blazing to steal him back. Yes, this was a twighlight zone we'd unknowingly entered.

The Doctor continued to stare at Lawson in disbelief, a look of betrayal in the shade of his eyes as if the Captain had knifed him in the back.

But the Captain either didn't recognize the Doctor's incessant stare or he ignored it outright, still staring at the viewport, deep in thought.

Captain Lawson turned to our highest ranking in Lima Company, Staff Sergeant Rios. "Get your Sergeant back if that's what you want. I know you're all very capable, and I'm tired of losing to the Covenant. It's time we gave a show of force for once."

I saw the trigueño lines of Rios' face light up in satisfaction. Most of Lima Company was grateful for the autonomy Lawson just granted us, but I wasn't sure what to think at this. I wasn't sure where I stood. We were given the green light to rescue the Gunny, but Doctor Kleiner was clearly disconcerted. He had been our guide, and practically our savior. He was the man behind the myth of the Transit. He shepherded us from the darkness of the mines, to the Lambda Core, and to the far side of the moon. He gave such reassurance and a sense of hope the moment we entered the Omega Wing. He always knew what to do. He was always a step ahead no matter how hopeless the situation. He never once lost his cool.

I wasn't sure who to follow now: the Captain who was now a part of our chain of command, or the Doctor who was as close to the Transit as anyone would get. He was the subject matter expert. Rescuing the Gunny (by the permission of the Captain) meant that we would undermine Doctor Eli Kleiner.

None of us wanted that.

Another double-edged sword.

Doctor Kleiner rested his gaze upon the deck, frozen in frustration. We needed him on our team, despite his difference in opinion. He had lost that battle with Captain Lawson, fallen down for a moment. It was up to him to get back up and help us. And he did. Like lightning, his demeanor changed. He approached me, uncovering the Transit from the canvas bag in his grasp.

"Private Pennington," he said grandly, "if such a rescue is to be done, then I wish for you to lead it. Here, take it. It's yours for now."

He offered up the Transit to me with two hands…and I reluctantly received it, never sure if at any moment I would send myself to some alternate dimension. A wave of nausea came over me at the thought, the same feeling I got when I first grasped this jet-black sphere. I knew that I could unwittingly make a mistake with it. A mistake that could cost the War. But I didn't dare let it show in front of my comrades, and especially my commander.

"Why me, Doctor? Why not Amy or Adrian?"

"Spartans can't be encumbered with the likes of such devices. They're better at doing things like protecting _you_. Besides, I like the way you learn…and that is quickly. From what I've seen, you're the most comfortable with it. You did a superb job in the training trials earlier."

_That was the most hasty training program I've ever been through, Doc._

I looked it over. I saw my reflection in its opacity. Though I hadn't even acted upon it yet, Doctor Kleiner's consoling words—however meager—began to set me at ease like a shot of vodka. And the mere thought of it in my hands was reassuring as I peered into its nothing-dark. I felt safe in having a hold over anything I could see.

"So…how does it feel to be Master once again?" the Doctor said beaming at me through his thick-rimmed glasses.

I almost stuttered I was so excited, but the answer I gave came in surprise to me. "It feels magnificent and terrible, Doctor."

The black ball in my hands—no bigger than a grapefruit—was capable of unimaginable things. It was a sobering truth. My hands were shaking as I held it aloft, its murky display churning with lethargic life, an eerily-calm storm front with limitless potential in store.

The Doctor became befuddled for a moment but as he pondered my words for a split second he began to realize something. "Excellent," he said proudly, "the confidence _and_ the humility to handle such power. You have great balance, young man. You wield the mightiest weapon. And the fate of man rests in your stroke. Use it wisely."

One way or another, I was going to lead this rescue. And I was the one to use the Transit's power. Doctor Kleiner would find any way for me to get my hands around it despite any reservations I had, I saw the determination in his eyes. He reached out with both arms and patted me squarely on the shoulders, a feeble smile as if throwing me into the deep water to see if I could swim.

I offered up an awkward smile, barely able to look Doctor Kleiner in the eye.

"Just remember," he said, "see it before you do it. Line up your targets. Use the yellow scalar icon to see your destination, and then execute the jump. It's that easy." I nodded, feeling a little more steady. "It's all up here." he said tapping the side of my head. He smiled once more before taking a step back from me, folding his arms and nodding appreciatively.

Captain Lawson announced, "I've had Rosetta select an infiltration team. It's time that you visited the armory and stocked up. Hurry up, team. You don't have much time."

"Yes." Doctor Kleiner added, "He who hesitates is lost."

With that, I double-timed it to the armory with a handful of Marines in tow. We made it there with Amy and Adrian already arming up. In the short time I've encountered Spartans, they've always been a step ahead—like telekinetic ninjas. They had just finished selecting their armaments, perfectly silent, swift, and deadly accurate. They knew exactly what to do.

Before I dug in, I looked around: The team Rosetta had selected was the best and brightest that Lima Company had to offer: Corporal Haelstrom—the deadly sniper with the cool head to match. He could cover our backs in the worst of firefights; Holmes—a great rifleman _and_ much like the Spartans themselves with his cool, efficient manner; Struger—the demolitions expert. I prayed the Covenant would afford him the opportunity to blow some shit up; Private Drake—close quarters expert. His preferred weapon was the shotgun and was perfect for this mission; Haze—a great rifleman and a cunning instinct to boot. He had a knack for sniffing out an ambush. Lawrence—another strong rifleman, and he loved this new Battle Rifle. Maybe this time Lawrence and Haze could settle the bet: BR-55 or MA5B? Then there was Hal Overton, the mystery technician at the Foreclay Outpost. Never late or early; always right on time. He was maintenance professional extraordinaire from what I could gather. He'd come in handy for an infiltration aboard an alien ship whose workings were strange to us.

And on top of all this: two Spartans.

Even with trouble, even with snags in the way, we could win.

I grabbed my weapons and my munitions from a locker. An assault rifle, a bandolier of grenades, a shotgun in case things got messy, a survival knife, a few medical supplies, biofoam canisters, and that about did it. I looked down and realized the Transit was still holstered to my vest, in a pouch that Kleiner had given me. It hung there, placid and lifeless…it's all-seeing eye veiled. I realized I might not even need weapons. This was the one and only super weapon in the universe. I was in command of everything.

But it added considerably more weight. I ditched the assault rifle and stuck with only the shotgun and grenades. Since we were getting into boarding action, I figured CQB would be the only type of battle we'd see. I sheathed the survival knife into an anklet holster and did a check on my electronics—NVG, HUD, TEAMBIO, and everything else.

I was ready.

So was everyone else.

A looked around the armory and all I saw were walls and the reflections emanating off MJOLNIR faceplates.

Struger had just packed a pair of SSMs into a SPNKr rocket launcher. He hefted it up over his shoulder and slung it onto his chest anchor. Lawrence had just slapped in a brand new clip of armor-piercing rounds into his Battle Rifle's receiver. Haze had done the same with his MA5B. Holmes had already racked and stacked his ammo and was flipping the safety off. He preferred it that way so he could fire in an instant. The Spartans stood stoic, waiting for us to help them carry out the mission.

It was time.

Rosetta cam over the net: "Private Pennington, I am going to help lead you through the Covenant vessel."

"Won't the Covenant ship's shielding block out your signal?"

"I won't be transmitting. I'll be right here with you—in Spartan 071's head."

I glanced over to Amy as she tapped the right side of her head where the outer surface of a data cube lay. Spartans had neural implants to interface with AIs. And their armor suits also housed enough electrolytic crystal to rival that of a heavy starship. Things just got even better. We had a class VII AI to navigate through enemy territory. Maybe this op wasn't as crazy, now that we had adequate firepower and the one tool to control all.

Captain Lawson came over the net. "_Team: We're nearly within docking distance of the_ Adamant Faith_. We'll stall them for as long as we can, but you'll have to act quickly before they detect what's going on. Otherwise, we're all toast."_

I swallowed the cold lump in my throat. This was a lot of weight on my shoulders. The _Thermisticles _was now face to face with this _Adamant Faith_…and God knows how many more capital ships; a whole armada of the Covenant.

I looked around once more at everyone. I nodded as I uncovered the Transit, waving my hand over its curvature. The blackness stirred to life. Colors and shapes materialized and coalesced into the center for me to play with. I took a hold of myself and the infiltration team, zoomed out, then brought the view over to the Covenant ship that was practically nose to nose with ours, only…I couldn't see inside it. The view turned blank—black. There was no destination available.

I waved my hand over the preview and started over. I selected us again, zoomed to see the Covenant ship, but I couldn't see inside it once more. I couldn't find a target to teleport to. Was it broken?

"Rosetta," I called. "Can you explain why this thing might not be able to teleport into a Covenant ship?"

"It could be that their shielding blocks out the Transit's 'view'."

"Hmm," I wondered. Time was ticking fast. We were face to face with awesome firepower and the infiltration team was still in the armory. Things were off to a bad start, and we could all feel it. The team was getting antsy. I quickly patched into the bridge—to Doctor Kleiner. "Doctor, we can't get a vector into the ship. Please advise!"

"_Yes, I feared their shielding may block out the Manipulator's signal. It's an intense electro-magnetic field. I'm afraid this may not work. Standby a moment and let me see if I can figure out a way to lower their shielding. Oh! Wait…no. If we do that, they'll assume we initiated an attack. We'll be destroyed in no time. Just…wait…"_

He severed the link.

Something had to be conjured up…fast. Captain Lawson was no doubt conversing with the enemy right this minute, trying to stall and subvert.

"Rosetta," I said.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me precisely how far away that Covenant ship is from our exact location?"

"Why…yes. Give me a moment. Redirecting bow-plane sensory input, calculating, extrapolating bit-error values…factoring shipboard coordinates. Got it: We are exactly three-hundred forty-two meters, give or take one."

"Thanks," I replied.

So we were three forty-two plus or minus one. According to Doctor Kleiner, I could theoretically override the Transit's failsafe and teleport in accordance with a purely linear distance measurement. The only problem is: I'd have to figure a way to discern the exact length from here to there. I didn't speak the Transit's language; neither did anyone else. I didn't know how it worked inside; even Kleiner dubbed that a mystery. All we had to go off of was a user-friendly graphical interface that the creator so generously incorporated into this gimmick. It would take more time for Rosetta and the quantum cryptography scientists on the bridge to crack it. Time we didn't have.

But a stroke of genius flashed in my mind's eye. I checked the Transit's all-seeing view at the lowest resolution—of the armory and the people in it. I looked over to Amy in front of me. "Rosetta, how far am I from Amy…exactly?"

"You are exactly three meters, give or take an incalculable amount of centimeters accounting for your slight movements."

So, three meters. I scaled that distance up with what I saw in the Transit. "Now Rosetta, You said three forty-two meters to the Covenant ship?"

"Yes, give or take one meter."

"Thank you." I zoomed out and then matched that distance with the distance I saw in the Transit as I zoomed out. I could see the gap in between the two opposing ships—the _Thermisticles _and this _Adamant Faith._ I did a ratio of proportions in my head. Thank God for high school math. Now I know I should've kicked myself when I complained that I'd never use this stuff in the 'real world'. Thanks to simple algebra, I now had a scale to judge the Transit's distance-measurement by. I could see where our jump would take us…give or take a little. But that may prove ill-fated. Give or take a little might mean teleporting into a bulkhead or inside a Hunter's chest. That would be very bad, and disgusting. But it would have to do. Time was running short and we had to fly. This was as good as it gets.

"Doctor Kleiner_," _I announced into the net. "We are making our jump momentarily_."_

"_You found a way to get inside?"_

"Yes."

"_Well…God speed, and give 'em hell! Bridge out."_

I wasn't taking a chance in my improvised transit. If we were just a few meters off, we could wind up just outside the Covenant vessel. In space. We'd die very quickly. "Everyone: find VAC suits and put them on, on the double! Go ahead and do a pressure check on your seals…and make ready to teleport."

Once suited, I woke up the Transit, my all-seeing super weapon. I looked around and clutched the group, took them over to the enemy ship, and dropped them there, using the scale in my head to approximate roughly twenty meters inside the outer hull as an impromptu destination. Hopefully, the jump wouldn't kill us. I tapped our target of intent twice…

…And a shower of blue sparks flooded my vision, followed by a blinding purple light.

My right knee flooded with pain, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I tried to pick it up but it was dead, of no use. I inspected further, looking down to the deck. The sole of my right boot was stuck in the deck plate of a Covenant cruiser. I panicked.

I couldn't believe I had done this to myself. I was the unlucky one this time.

I tried once more to pull it up out of the ground as the rest of the team covered the room we occupied, but all I received was pain. It wouldn't respond. Of course, how could it? It was teleported into the ground. Could I get myself out? I didn't want to be stuck here.

I _could_ possibly use the scale in my head to teleport up a meter in the air and fall harmlessly back to the top of the deck—where I belonged. As I pondered the idea, I noticed the purple deck was distorted right where my boot plunged into its mass. Ripples in its makeup fanned out from the deformation, like the ground had buckled around my mass. I remembered Doctor Kleiner's words in the mines: "_It will never transpose foreign molecules with that of your own inert form."_

Could it be true? It somehow made sense as I stared down at my foot, the ground warped in gentle waves. Doctor Kleiner had always been right, at least so far. I used a little more of the Transit's energy to safely raise myself off the deck. It worked. I fell back to the ground. As I recovered, I noticed a boot sized impression in the deck where I once stood. I checked myself again. The pain was gone and I felt normal again. Thank God.

I joined the rest of the squad in securing the room we now occupied, which looked like a cargo bay of sorts, strange purple boxes of unknown alloy littering the scene. There was no enemy in sight. Thank God even more. And we were lucky that no one else had translocated into other objects. It seemed everyone had landed safely on the deck, except for me, now fixed. We could move on now.

Haze whispered, "What if we run into trouble? Do we just open fire? Won't the Covenant know we've boarded and blow the _Thermisticles_ to hell?"

"That's a good question." Amy responded. "Any suggestions, Private Pennington?"

"If we run into action, I could just teleport them to outside this ship and into space. They'd die quickly and no one would even know." I smiled.

"Won't Covy pick that up?" Haze asked.

"Not likely." Rosetta inferred. "They are too small of signatures to catch. Now, if there was a large, concentrated mass of them then it's probable the Covenant would pick that up on sensor. And then we'd be in big trouble."

"So, I'll just choose different targets for each group of uglies I send outside to their deaths." I said.

"Good idea." Rosetta said. "We have a plan. I'll get to infiltrating the ship's network. Amy, I'm detecting a wireless handshake protocol to three' o'clock, at the base of that wall on your HUD now. Patch a cord in and I'll insert an insurgency routine."

Amy trotted over to the objective and inserted Rosetta's program.

"Accessing the link." Rosetta said. "I've remoted in. No resistance encountered yet. If there is a Covenant AI aboard this ship, it's lying dormant for the time being. The ship's net is unencrypted. This'll be a walk in the park."

While Rosetta was accessing the enemy mainframe, I tried my hand at the Transit once more. I had to be certain we had enough juice to get back to the _Thermisticles_. I conjured up a preview and came across a huge snag: I couldn't see anything outside the _Adamant Faith_. My heart skipped a beat. The Transit couldn't see outside, just as it didn't see inside. The ship's shielding wasn't playing nice with the Transit. This was trouble.

Even if we did make it to the Gunny and extracted him, we'd have to roll the dice to get back out. I would have to jump us to somewhere just outside, then into the _Thermisticles_. And then, I would have to get the _Thermisticles _the hell out before the armada breathing down our necks could destroy us—which is to say—very quickly. And there had to be the energy to do it.

This meant I was going to have to conserve every last bit of the Transit's juice to make it all happen, which further meant I'd have to be wise about how many enemies in our path I could shove out of the way. Stealth and trickery was our proviso, but not if it meant starving the Transit of our only escape.

Yet another double-edged sword.

"Proceed to the NAV marker," Rosetta directed, "on your HUDs now."

I looked up: there it was: a fluorescent-orange diamond painted on my visor.

"Where is this taking us?" I asked her.

"This is the most likely spot that Sergeant Smith is in. If my translations are correct, it is the ship's brig. Structural layout of the area indicates this is probably the case. Proceed."

"Copy. Radio silence," I ordered.

I leveled a hand towards the beacon and we crept swift and silent towards it.

Together, we reached a cargo bay door. Its seam was laid straight down the middle from ceiling to floor. Pink illumination oozed its way through the crack and spilled to the door sill just in front of us. "Rosetta, can you crack it?"

"Yes…give me a moment."

I panned around the room we occupied—so far, so good. No incursions with the enemy. But something was a little…off. There _were_ no Covenant around, so sign of them. The bay we held was nearly empty and it was quiet as a whisper. I looked to Haze, the most cunning of any of us. He was content in just covering the door Rosetta was about to open. He didn't seem as nervous as I did. Though, I couldn't truly tell what anyone was thinking unless I asked them. Their faces were obscured through the reflective visors of our VAC suits. Shifts in weight or subtle body movements could tell things about the way a person felt. Vibes...they helped. But the eyes never left any doubt.

No matter. We had to move on.

The door suddenly slid open with an eerie chime. All of us instantly wheeled around to scope out what was beyond—nothing. Completely clear and devoid of anything, just a narrow and long hallway that stretched with glowing conduits along the sides. The path gently ascended and descended, the length of the lane halfway shrouded with each pitch. We crept through, slow at first. But the confines of this narrow corridor warranted a little more speed. We could see anything that came across our path. Plus, the ceiling was low, not much higher than Adrian, Spartan 066.

Rosetta opened a spot-beam channel with me and said, "This is the main artery of the ship. Other hallways stem from this one, but I'm detecting no personnel in them. I'll advise you on any company that might be in the way. For now, just take the straightest path to the beacon."

"Copy," I said.

I gave two quick tomahawk chop gestures towards the beacon and we double-timed. As we traversed deeper into the ship, other hallways stemmed off from ours as Rosetta mentioned. Empty. It reminded me much of the Foreclay outpost when we first arrived, only these halls looked a little different. Pink fuzz and undulating purple glow and electric-arc blue. Strange electronics dotted the walls here and there. It was altogether strange, but I had to keep my mind on the objective. I couldn't get lost in the details.

"How much further?" I asked Rosetta.

"Not much farther," she said. "Oh my, this is strange…" she trailed off.

I didn't like the word strange. I wanted simple and easy. Strange in this type of situation was synonymous with ambush and danger. "What is it?"

"I've done a complete scan of the ship. There are no Covenant personnel here, at all. This means one of three things: my translations of Covenant systems are faulty; my translations are sabotaged from a smart Covenant AI; or this is a trap."

"Shit."

I threw up a fist and halted the group.

"Rosetta, are you sure there's no Covenant here? Can you do another scan?"

"Yes, standby. This should only take a moment."

I looked around: the group was holding up just fine. They weren't anxious. Why would they be? It was the best possible team for a mission like this. Two Spartans, a class VII AI, and a handful of fine Marines. Hal Overton moseyed over to a glowing conduit that was part of a nearby wall. He took a peek at it, careful not to touch the alien contraption. He ran his practiced eye over it, made whatever mental notes he could about it, and walked back to us. "Make sure you stay close, Hal."

He nodded.

"Complete," Rosetta announced. "This ship is empty."

"What about the brig?"

"Analysis: incomplete. There is a barrier shield separating it from the rest of the ship."

"Damn it," I said. "This smells like a trap to me. There's no Covenant here and we can't see inside the one place the Gunny could be."

"I agree," she said, "but we need to get visual confirmation first to determine he's not here."

"Agreed," I said warily.

I pointed the way again to the NAV beacon. We ran at an all-out sprint to the brig, down long and narrow lanes, up and down gentle ramps, and finally, rounding a sharp corner that led to the wide doors of the ship's brig. A shimmering wave of plasma fortified the entrance. Its power was probably equivalent in magnitude of the starship's shielding. There was no breaking it down with what weapons we had.

"Rosetta, can you see inside?"

"No, but if you teleport three meters straight ahead, you'll be past the barrier."

"Roger."

I took a deep breath and woke up the Transit. Its blackness shimmered to life with the same colors and symbols. I took hold of us, placed us roughly three meters beyond the large doors, and tapped the destination.

We were inside. The room was unusually huge for a prison, the ceiling was high and holding cells lined the walls—three chambers per side. Energy shielding also sealed them up. I split the group in half and directed two teams to search the cells. I led team Alpha on the right side and had Amy lead team Beta on the left.

The first cell was totally empty, just a purple deck plate.

I rushed to the second cell, expecting to see the Gunny—smiling and happy to see us. It too was empty.

I ran up to the last cell. It had a VAC suit, thigh pads, knee pads, elbow pads, and a standard issue UNSC helmet. No Gunny.

"Hey!" I yelled to Amy, breaking protocol. She looked over to me as she reached the last cell far on her side of the chamber.

"He's not here," she responded.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

"This ship is a decoy," Rosetta said. "We have to leave right now!"

"Hey, computer lady!" Haze shouted. "I know your just a bunch of miniature wires all cooped up in a little cube, but that's our sergeant out there. We can just _leave_." I shot Haze a glance to hopefully quiet him down. "This is so FUBAR," he whispered.

I almost responded with something harsh, but caught myself as my mouth opened. It would just be wasted breath and time if I scorned him. It would only bring morale down even further. I let it slide. "Listen everyone: let's try not to get pissed off at each other."

I couldn't believe they got us.

But what would they do now?

_We _had the Transit. Surely they knew that.

Even if they got the _Thermisticles, _the Captain, Kleiner, and everyone else, there was still us. We could teleport to somewhere else, long enough to stay alive and figure out a plan. We were always ahead of these bastards. I wouldn't let that change. I'd be damned if everything we'd worked for so far was all for nothing. I wouldn't let that happen.

I'd teleport myself and the Transit down to Zagosa to burn together.

But my thoughts were venturing into the negative now. I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. They could take out our ship, our only get away, if they knew we were here with the Transit. Even if we hid from them, teleported to somewhere far away, we'd eventually die of suffocation. Our VAC suits didn't have the air supply to keep us alive for more than a few hours. Same with the Spartans. That left the chance for the Covenant to find us and pry the Transit from our cold, dead fingers. That was absolutely unacceptable.

Furthermore, there was no safe place to jump to. Zagosa was dead, the moon had no atmosphere, and we couldn't jump to the next system with what little energy the Transit could spend at the present time.

We were screwed.

The only viable option was to jump back to our own ship and get on with Operation: Island Hop. Maybe we were better off letting the Gunny go after all. We were totally, utterly, out of options. Unless…

"Rosetta, do you still have a copy of the video the Covenant sent us of the Gunny?"

"Yes, but why do you ask?"

"Never mind. On my HUD, now!"

"Affirmative," she said with a frustration in her voice.

The video replayed for me. The Gunny knelt in his cell, identical to the ones in this ship's brig. He looked directly into the camera, straight-faced and calm, tapping his knuckles against the cold, purple, alien deck. "What is he doing?" I whispered to myself.

"We're losing precious time," Rosetta urged. "What good is this doing, Private Pennington?"

"Hang on. Give me one more minute."

She gave no response.

I replayed and watched it again. His tap was rhythmic and structured. He was trying to tell us something. What?

"Oh my God," I said aloud. "It's the quadratic alphabet!"

"What?" Holmes asked. "You mean prison code?"

"Yeah. I never thought anyone paid attention to that training class but me," I said. "He's telling us something. I'm going to play it over. Someone, enter these letters into your system."

I watched and listened to the Gunny's beat, trying to decipher his code. The quadratic alphabet was an arrangement of the English alphabet in a square—five rows and five columns. C and K were interchangeable. You'd tap out each letter to form sentences. It was a very old system that POWs used to communicate with one another. Usually, it was just a way of keeping sane and social, just passing the time. But occasionally, enough free communication was established to devise an escape plan. This had to be it. Good 'ol Gunny—strong 'till the end.

"Okay," I said. "Take down these letters…R-E-S-U-L-T-A-N-T…F-U-R-Y. Resultant Fury. What the hell does that mean?"

"Beats the hell outta me," Struger said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Is it code word?" asked Lawrence.

"I doubt it," said Amy. "I've never heard him use that one before. It must be something he saw or heard."

"Saw or heard…" Holmes mumbled. "Maybe it's the name of the ship he's on? Maybe he overheard the guards' talk about it?"

"That just might be our ticket," I said. "Rosetta, can you infiltrate the armada net and see if there's a ship by that name?"

"I think so, but I'll have to execute some extensive hacks. This may take a moment."

"Anything works. Just hurry as fast as you can." I said.

"I've got it!" she announced. "That was quicker than I thought. They're networking on an unencrypted signal. Fools."

"What have you got?"

"The Gunny is being held on a ship called the _Resultant Fury_, good job." I patted Holmes on the back. "The ship is located exactly one-thousand and sixty-two meters to two' o'clock, on your HUD. Can you manage it?"

I looked at the NAV marker she placed, which continually adjusted with the apparent motions of the ship we needed to get to. It wasn't stationary. For one, it was going to be a difficult jump. Two, it was more than a kilometer away; I wasn't sure if the Transit could get us there. Three, I couldn't see inside it which meant we were taking a chance on the unknown yet again. So I thought about Rosetta's question…and I answered, "We'll see."

I woke up the orb again. I used the distance I received from Rosetta's dynamic beacon and plugged it into the Transit. There was in fact enough juice to get us there. I guess it made sense. We were only a handful of people, whereas the teleport from the Lambda Core to the moon was around a hundred people and a lot of equipment.

I'd still have to be careful how I used it once aboard this _Resultant Fury. _Too many favors from the Transit and our ticket back to the _Thermisticles _was revoked. There was a chance we'd have to risk combat, and therefore, risk the armada bearing down on Captain Lawson and everyone else aboard our ship.

I stole a deep breath, then another. I steeled myself. This was it.

"Is everyone ready?"

They all nodded, firm stances and stoic, emotionless faces gazing back to me. They were ready.

"Whatever happens today…we'll give them a fight to remember us by."

I seized the group and the moment. I looked at them all, savoring the friendships I had, the peaks and the valleys, the highs and the lows, the twists and the turns…the dark and the light. Before the sentiment could get to me, I tagged them all—just figures in a grand scheme. I found our end. And I sent us there.

My vision blanked out and then came back. We were inside the _Resultant Fury_, the room starkly different than the last. The only reason being: there was a duo of Hunters in the center alongside a clutch of mid-ranking Elites.

My breath turned cold.

We froze.

Their backs were turned to us. Had this contingent of Covenant been facing us, we'd already be dead. We had the utmost luck and the element of perfect surprise. So, I seized it.

I snatched them all without a hint of hesitation and sent them off to the cold death awaiting them somewhere outside the hull. They simply disappeared, perfectly silent and clean kills. They were now cartwheeling through pitch-blackness, their screams inaudible. The room was empty.

"Where to?" I asked Rosetta.

"New NAV beacon on your HUD."

Once again, we moved out. We were on a mission to rescue the Gunny.

We approached our first door, the same ubiquitous pink light oozing out of the center seam. Rosetta cracked it with ease and we poured through, this team of quiet assassins. Rosetta had been perfecting her tactics. She updated my NAV marker continuously, data refreshing itself every second that told how fast we were closing the distance between us and the Gunny. And it wasn't very far, merely a hundred meters. I slowed the pace with more attention paid to our surroundings. The closer we drew to our objective, the more likely threats would emerge. If the Covenant got one whiff of us, the _Thermisticles _would be shit canned. And so would we.

We filed through the narrow corridor, bathed in purple and pink and boiling plasma-blue, our footsteps silent, leaving no trace of subversion. A sharp turn around a corner and a trio of little Covenant grunts led by a solo blue Elite came face to face with us. Before I could even take stock of the situation, Amy and Adrian dashed forth. By the time I reached a hold of the most dangerous foe—the Elite—they had just slit each of the little ones' throats and were loping towards the Elite. Before they could take it on, it was gone. I sent him about a thousand meters off to starboard. Dead for all I knew.

"Shit! That was close." Haze said as blue Grunt blood seeped into the corrugated deck.

I nodded and gave the motion to keep going.

Another straight dash for a few meters and the lane pitched steeper up, steeper and steeper, until at the top of the rise lied our destination—the Gunny's prison cell. The same wave of energy barred us from the room. But not the power of the Transit.

I picked us up and brought us to the other side…and I was dumbfounded by the number of enemies in sight.

Elite and Hunter and Jackal and Grunt. The room was saturated with wide, evil smiles. Prickling teeth and outstretched mandibles were at eye level, hungry for pain and blood. Our blood.

There were too many.

"Fire!" Amy yelled.

The inside of the room turned into a solid mass of zooming death. Tracer rounds and needles, plasma bolts and buckshot littered the bay, followed by a pair of white plumes as Struger unleashed twin missiles that sailed towards Hunters.

I couldn't observe the ensuing carnage or the Covenant counter. My mind was on the Transit in my hands. I placed as many arrows as I could on all the enemies I could as they moved in and out of the fray. Before I could act upon them, a Jackal had avoided my vision and skirted the action. It was right on top of me. Its overcharged plasma pistol was leveled at my face, heavy green glow blotting out my sight. The light from the weapon lit up its ghastly features—a rabid smile glistening with sharp teeth. It hissed and salivated in anticipation before releasing the trigger.

Too bad for the vulture. For my shotgun was already laid at my feet in advance, racked and safety cracked. With not even the time to grasp the weapon, I did the only thing I could do to save my life: knelt down and pulled the trigger where it lay. The blast from the poorly aimed shot blew off one of the Jackal's extremities. It howled in pain and lost balance. It then let go of the trigger and the overcharged shot went wild in the air, a singing-hot whiz of plasma streaking past my ear. Blisters formed not an instant later. Ignoring the pain and I scooped the shotgun off the ground, squeezed in the general direction of my attacker. Jackal blood and brain matter decorated the purple walls. The blood bath to follow was materializing in the Transit right now. I began wondering if anyone in Lima Company had fallen.

I commanded the Transit and took hold of all the enemies it held. I wasn't even sure if I had them all. My hasty actions would have to prove useful this time.

I stabbed the ball.

The room got impossibly silent. An intense ringing was in my ears as I looked around...the enemies were gone except for one Hunter and one Jackal.

No sooner had I realized it, the Hunter was plowing straight towards me. Its lumbering footsteps shook the alien floor as it thundered closer. But before it got within arm's reach, a rocket slammed into its unprotected back and sent the beast hulking forward in a death dive. It ground to a halt on what could be called its face, and lived its last seconds there. The Jackal wasn't even a thought as Adrian sent a round through its avian skull before it could even scream.

We once again overcame insurmountable odds.

We scavenged the room and all the holding chambers. There he was—the Gunny—safe from the battle behind a protective screen of energy shielding. I zoomed in, grabbed us both and zoomed out.

He stood with me in the center of the prison with everyone else crowding around. He offered out a hand and I shook it, then I gave him a hug. "Let's get the hell out of here, sir."

"My sentiments, exactly." he replied with a crooked smile.

I looked the Gunny over: he had been stripped of his VAC suit just like the Covenant video had shown. All he had on was his woodland camouflage fatigues. The Gunny needed a straight shot into the _Thermisticles_. But this was impossible. We first had to get out of the _Resultant Fury_—into space. Then, we could get back home. The shielding shut out the Transit's all-seeing eye. I'd have to be deathly quick, for the Gunny's lungs would implode from the sheer vacuum tearing at the breath inside him. Not only that, but the Covenant probably knew what we were up to by now. The _Thermisticles_ needed our assistance anyway—more than ever.

All in all, I'd have to jump out of here, jump us all back into the _Thermisticles_ before Gunny died, and get the ship and _everyone _away. All before the Covenant armada out there had even the gumption to annihilate us.

"Rosetta," I beckoned. "I need you to access the Covenant net once more. Tell me how far away our ride is. It has to be perfect. Three jumps and we're gone."

"Aye. Processing…on your display now."

"Gunny, exhale all the air out of your lungs. As soon as we hit vacuum, you need to have no air in you or else your lungs will look like chopped liver. Here we go!"

I hit the Transit...

...And we appeared on the other side of the hull, in the middle of a Covenant circus. Their engines were aglow with fury, speeding this way and that. They were clearly disconcerted, without a doubt, from our combative insertion aboard two of their ships. Rosetta had infiltrated every level of their unencrypted network too.

I paid no more mind. We were floating as a group in the free vacuum, the Gunny right beside me, wide-eyed, unprotected.

I woke the Transit up again, and took a hold of us all. I zoomed out to get the _Thermisticles _in view. But it wasn't there. I could see it through my visor: a tiny, blocky mass thousands of meters away, sitting all alone amidst a swarm of angry Covenant cruisers. But I couldn't see it in the Transit. It wouldn't reach that far.

"Oh no!" I yelled. Had I used all the energy? Could I not get us back home?

The Gunny was starting to lose it. He was starting to seize up. There was no wind in his lungs and he was starting to pay the price for my actions.

I looked around as if the answer was out there. The only thing out there was hundreds of Covenant ships, starting to coalesce into independent battle groups, and all lining up for a shot on the _Thermisticles_.

The lines on their flanks pulsated, glowed with a hellish red…their main plasma batteries. All the might of every capital ship out there was raised, overkill for such a small vessel like the one Captain Lawson commanded. The _Thermisticles _and everyone aboard it would flash boil in a femtosecond.

I panicked. This was all my fault. I let this happen.

I looked to the Gunny at my side again, convulsing. He caught my eye through the visor and managed a weak, aching smile.

I looked out into the stars and started to cry. It was over.

Strangely enough as I basked in my ultimate defeat, was an even stranger light off to the periphery of my vision. Somewhere between luck and fate, it caught my eye.

The Transit was still in my hands. I had involuntarily been grasping it, like the last one true hope, like it could get me out of this mess that I made. But it couldn't. There was no power left in it. I had wasted it all.

But the strange light came from _it_. It was right there—on the surface—pulsating, throbbing, begging to be used...like destiny.

Doctor Kleiner had explicitly said not to touch it. What it did was unknown to him. He knew the Transit better than anyone and he had always been right.

But all was lost anyway. Maybe using this one last tool could bring good. Maybe something would come of it. _Anything_…as long as it wasn't like the doom I had manifested.

_He who hesitates is lost..._I closed my eyes and poked this purple dot.

I opened my eyes.

The view in the Transit had metamorphosized. It was like nothing I had ever seen—so beautiful and strange, and yet so threatening.

It had changed from jet-black to pure chrome.

The colors and shapes in it were brighter than ever, so clear.

But most importantly, I could see the _Thermisticles _in its spectacle.

I tapped the yellow icon to zoom in on the ship. I saw the armory where we had began this crazy mission. I seized us all and sent us there.

We crashed to the deck, the new scene looking something strange.

"We made it!" Haze shouted. "I wondered what the hell you were doing!"

"Yeah, me too," I said.

"The Gunny!" Holmes shouted.

We all crowded around him. He lied motionless on the deck, pale skin and white lips. His eyes were distant, somewhere else. "Noooooooooooooooo!"

"Get us out of here!" Rosetta shouted.

I stole my teary eyes off the Gunny and vested all my will and concentration into the Transit. I could see the entire battlefield: hundreds of Covenant ships with their bristling spines glowing like radioactive antennae. Their lateral lines glowed with hellish red and they surrounded the _Thermisticles _completely in a circle of impending doom, with no intent of letting it go.

They let loose.

Hundreds of molten lances shot forth and converged onto our position. They raced faster and faster, swimming through the night like ravenous electric eel. They were upon us, impossibly close. The _Thermisticles_ lay at the brink of total destruction.

We disappeared—

—a thousand kilometers higher.

Through the Transit, I looked down upon them. The plasma shots missed us clean, hitting nothing but empty space. The hundred-fold plasma barrage failed to reorient, swerved left to right, and picked up new targets. They raced towards their ally's' ships. Like the geometry of a cut apple pie, the lines of conflagration bisected the circular array perfectly. The red-hot molten plasma smashed each vessel around the cirumference of their grand formation, giving a new twist to the phrase "friendly fire". They all took in each others' ordinance steadily, feeding into the defenses meter for meter as the fiery glow grew brighter and brighter.

It was a symbiotic relationship of pure carnage as the plasma shots sent their shields white-hot until they overloaded and failed. The friendly fire pierced every hull before expending itself completely out the other side of each and every ship.

Some listed out of control. Others were content to burn where they sat.

A dull thump shook the deck and Captain Lawson entered the net.

"Pennington, make us leave this place...right now."

"Where to, sir?!"

"I really liked that spot on the moon."

"Sounds good."

We evaporated once more and found ourselves parked in the crater still indented with the mass of the frigate.

Once the hull settled, a blinding flash shone inside the Transit and stole my attention. So bright, the room filled with it, casting shadows all around. White glow—whiter than any Covenant vessel's shielding at full load—filled the night outside. A colossal corona of pure energy spread out in all directions inside the formation of battle cruisers and capital ships. It grew larger, swelling at a frightening pace. Within seconds, it engulfed the Covenant armada. Seconds later the light faded, leaving us in darkness again. My eyes adjusted and I looked into the Transit. There was nothing left inside, only dust and echoes. It would have been our fate.

"What the hell just..." Lawrence began, brushing himself off. "Was that a nuke?"

"A miracle." I said.

"Miracle?" he asked wryly.

"A nuclear fusion-type device." Rosetta offered bluntly. "A NOVA."

"The Captain nuked 'em!" Holmes said. "You sure they're all done for?"

"Quite sure." I peered once more into the display and nodded for confirmation.

Holmes caught me staring at it in my hands and shook me. "It came through somehow," I said, still fixed on it. "It changed. This wouldn't have been possible otherwise."

"I'm taking Gunnery Sergeant Smith to the infirmary right now." Amy said.

Her voice was almost a whisper, though I sensed an overt dread in her tone. With an urgency equal to that of her engaging in the many firefights I witnessed, she hoisted him off the floor without pause.

"Oh man!" Haze said. "He looks awful." He keyed a transmitter near his wrist and shouted, "Best medics to the infirmary, now!"

"I'll get his legs while Amy holds his torso." Adrian said. "We're not taking him to the infirmary just dangling like that." Amy nodded as he ordered, "Secure his dog tags."

He was hefted gingerly to the med bay.

With that, the Marines of the infiltration team trekked once again to the bridge, the hardest one ever, harder than the journey across the moon. We only though we'd lost our NCOIC then. Now, I wasn't sure this time if the situation was worse. The amount of punishment a body could withstand was limited. The man was subjected to the hard vacuum of space without anything. It was then that I started to regret my actions. Only time would tell if I failed him.

Once to the bridge, Captain Lawson called the room to attention.

I was a bit taken back.

After a crisp salute from him, he strode over to us and shook each of our hands. "Marines, you are to be commended. We'll have our ceremonies here, but sooner or later the galaxy will learn of your actions. You and the Spartans. They will learn of Gunnery Sergeant Smith and his Lima Company, and how together we vanquished an entire Covenant Armada!"

"Hey, all good things have to come to an end, right?" Haze smiled.

The bridge instantly filled with a laughter I hadn't known in many days.

Doctor Kleiner approached the incoming survivors with a smile. "You made me proud, Marines. And Pennington, Blake, I knew you'd perform well."

He looked down at my hands. They still held the Transit tightly. I followed his gaze and noticed my hands were red, nearly white at the knuckles. I had only now realized I'd been holding onto it for this long with no respite.

"Can I have it?" he asked.

"Of course." I said, placing it in his grasp. "Damn thing gets heavy after a while."

The weight of it sunk into his palms and bogged down his shoulders a slight amount. He sighed and veiled the device inside the canvass bag.

Before sealing the material, he looked at it curiously and asked me, "What happened to its surface?"

"Yeah, I hit the purple dot."

"_What?"_

"Yeah...sorry...but I had to. It's the only reason we're still alive."

"What did it do? Tell me!"

"Well, after we jumped out of the enemy cruiser, we were stuck in space with no energy to get us back into the _Thermisticles. _When I hit the purple icon, it changed from black to this chrome color, and it let me find the way back here. It's like a last resort built in, like a reserve or something. I don't know. I was hoping you could figure it out."

He scratched his blad scalp, shook his head in amusement, and smiled. "Again, congratulations on a job well done." Kleiner said, curling the ball in his armpit while he patted my back. "We'll get to discovering what exactly you did to the device. At any rate, it must've been a good thing."

"Thanks, Doctor. Though, I don't know how the Gunny will do. He took quite a beating out there. Will he survive?"

"Don't worry. He'll pull through. We can flash clone him a new set of lungs while we feed him oxygen through respirators. Cryo-stasis can also postpone his current condition."

"Yes."

I wanted to believe that that was true beyond my doubts, but medical science couldn't fix everything. Everyone had their breaking point. But I forced myself away from the Gunny. I couldn't change his outcome. I forced back the tears and looked around the room, until finally someone broke the silence.

"Operation Island Hop can now begin." Captain Lawson announced. "We can start saving precious life."

"Where will we go first?" Lawrence asked.

"Well," the Captain answered, "We fly to Reach, stopping at every colony along the way to pay the Covenant back for two and a half decades of unprovoked murder."

That sounded good.

As I stood taking in the view, I felt a presence beside me.

Amy merely stood for a moment and looked out the view port. He glanced her way as she stared out of the lunar depression we sat in. Her gaze seemed to reach very far, maybe taking in the sight of the once-pristine planet we called home.

The remnants of the battlefield glimmered with the fragments of our enemy's warships. We reveled in their demise.

We could find peace. Lima Company could finally move on. Of the fifty-thousand soldiers and sailors that had pledged service to Zagosa Prime, just one company of Marines who spent most of the battle underground were the only ones left. Witnessing the final moments I would ever know of my last home, I felt a profound sense of loss knowing that more would have been saved had the device been discovered just a little sooner.

But for once in our tortured days, a perfectly peaceful, silent moment went by and Amy turned to me, unfastening her helmet.

Unmasked, she said to me, "I always knew it was you. I never forgot the boy I met that day."

"I know." I said.

No sadness or even a hint of regret was in her eyes. The only thing existent was plain, hard truth and a well-tempered resolve to defeat the Covenant.

For the first time, I saw her smile.

And for the first time in Lima Company, she was not alone.

"That's it, then." Kleiner declared with a cleansing breath. "It's finished. Goodbye to Zagosa Prime…and a straight path to Reach."

I looked around at the people among us. We had braved through the darkest of horrors on that world. We struggled and strained and fought for survival and victory. Even with all we'd lost, hope filled me.

Doctor Kleiner looked down to the device he held with a splendor in his eye, as if he was the hand of God. With pleasure, he slowly worked its surface once again, waving his hand and tapping at the blackness. One final pause and his lungs filled with the jubilant air of the bridge. Then, looking around at the faces of the room with a smile…

…He touched the Transit.

* * *

The stars wheeled all around us as we left space and thought and time. For a mere instant, I swore I saw the room sparkle and roll, then there was nothing but glimmering light and blurry distortion until the heavens outside scattered throughout the blackness of space—just like we were.

**-THE END-**


End file.
